


From Shadows and Mountains

by prisma134



Series: Our Souls Do Sing Loudly [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Beards (Relationships), Betrayal, Businessmen, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Hurt, Fated meetings, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, First Time, Friendship, Gun Violence, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Irish Mafia, Justice, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Mutilation, Naive Steve Rogers, Orphanage, Orphans, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Prequel, Prostitution, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Russian Mafia, Self Defence, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slurs for context only, Time Skips, Torture, Tragedy, Underage Sex, Vigilantism, Violence, commitment issues, mafia, mobster!Bucky, self discovery, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-12 17:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19950103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisma134/pseuds/prisma134
Summary: In 2004, a series of events begins to take place that set our two lovers on their destined paths. Sixteen year old Bucky struggles with the decision to create his own identity or follow the one that has been planned out for him his whole life. Meanwhile, eight year old Steve Rogers struggles with the death of his mother that sets him along his treacherous path to adulthood.The prequel to "Stone Cold", in which characters' relationships and origin stories are discovered. Best read between the first and third parts of this series.





	From Shadows and Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a hot minute since I updated, but I am happy that I have finally had the time and inspiration to update. I hope you enjoy! This part is best read between the first and third installments of this series. See asterisk at the end for translations.

It used to be a Franciscan church. The kind with modest ceilings, no fancy gilded art works, no saints in ecstasy. It used to be a place of worship and a place where the poor and the rich were just spiritual bodies that belonged to God. It used to be a Franciscan church.

When his family came over from Russia a few generations ago, long before he was born, the church was quaint and served the community. When his great great great grandfather had acquired it through means of power and fair warfare, it had remained a Franciscan church. But, when the Great Depression had hit, the economy had shifted, and crime started to rise, the church switched its ideology. Being owned by the Russian mob in a time of downturn and death, the church was forced to switch to Catholicism.

When he was born, he heard the many stories his aunts and uncles, and his great grandfather had told him. As by right, his great grandfather had picked his name. James Buchanan Barnes. He had never understood, until his grandfather lay dying why he had been named after the most notorious and disliked president of the United States.

His great grandfather had told him, that with times of downturn and times of death his name would be a reminder that the Barnes clan, despite all its hardships, could never sink as low as President Buchanan had let the country. Instead, he, the next heir in line would continue on and bring their family and the country out of an age of darkness and into light. At the age of eight, he was impressed and charged with vigor.

Now, at sixteen, when his great grandfather's words were coming true, he was solemn and melancholy. Today was the day of his coronation in a Franciscan church turned Catholic with saints in ecstasy, rich golds, and marbled floors. He stood staring in front of the hall's painting, a large original by Caravaggio. It was the only painting that he felt something when he looked at it; humbled by the deep earth tones and the lack of pastels with divine lights. It was the only painting he cared for, it was the only reminder that he was just a boy, a boy who was to take on the world and who would eventually return to the dust too. As he looked at the unbridled body of Mary in a hovel without so much as an angel or God in sight, he knew he was just a boy embarking on a journey that would lead to his death and there would be nothing special about it.

His father was watching him from the corner of the room, near the door of the church. He had watched his son stand here thousands of times, for thousands of days and hours looking at the painting. When it had been put up, around his son's thirteenth birthday, he knew that his son would not be the young man he had thought he would be. His son, large eyed and full of wonder became brooding but charming in a quiet kind of way. At first the painting fascinated him, but as time went on there was something different in the meaning of the painting for his son. His father knew this soon after his son's thirteenth birthday.

It began with his daughter's death.

He remembered the day of his daughter's death, it was raining and James was covered in her blood. The sky was dark, the gargoyles forlorn, the clouds weeping, the church silent, and his son's eyes were all too wide and dark. They had been walking out of the church, the sky was an ominous black, his right hand man said it was a foreboding sign – a superstitious man he was – and right he was. They were walking down the steps, his father, his mother, his sister, their friends, and the right hand man. When they stepped outside, a crisp but wet September afternoon, there was a shot and there was a thud. A scream, a flash, footsteps: a death. She had died, and James was not the same.

When he saw his son stand in front of that wretched painting, he knew his son saw something he did not.

He walked forward towards his son, dressed in all black in his sleek suit with his short cropped hair. James looked slightly over his shoulder, peering at his father.

“The day has finally come,” his father, George, said.

James hummed, “So it has.”

“I can't remember a day when I didn't find you here. It seems only fitting that you would end your boyhood here today.”

James scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Today, James, is the first day of your life. Do you understand me? Today, you are choosing to give up your childhood and embark on the family business, you are the heir, the _only_ heir.”

James' jaw twitched, he turned to face his father, eyes hard. He would make a good boss one day if he learned to control himself.

“I know you may not like it, but it's your duty. It's an honor, dating back generations before you. This is bigger than you, bigger than me. When you walk through those gilded doors, you give up who you were and you take on the role of someone to be. But, that doesn't mean you forget who you were. I want to give you something.”

James waited.

George reached into his pocket and brought out a glittering gold ring, it was worn and it was old. He had seen it on his father's hand every day after meetings, parties, organizations, and the occasional but rare day off.

James had only recently attended the meetings his father constantly had, and which he never wanted to be a part of. It was a symbol of their organization, a symbol of power. He knew it would be his one day, but he dread the day it would be passed to him.

“Father-” he started.

“I know you don't want it, but it's your responsibility now. Now take it.”

“Father I don't want it.”

“No, but you will take it,” George said as he thrust the ring into his son's hand.

Before James could protest, a small slippery man poked his head out through the doors. Murmurs of whispering could be heard from behind him.

“Mr. Barnes, Sir, the ceremony has begun.”

George looked at his son, then to the man, Zola. He nodded, and Zola scurried back inside.

“It's time.”

His father walked towards the door, waiting for James to come to his side. James did, reluctantly. They stood there for a few moments, his father quiet and hard, James silent and brooding. The doors opened, and his future awaited him

***

After his coronation, he never had a moment's peace. He was constantly surrounded by family, mainly Natasha, Clint, and Sam. He liked them, but they weren't his friends anymore, at least not while he was on duty.

“Why the long face,” Natasha asked as he plopped into the chair in front of him.

At eleven, she was already coming into womanhood. He legs were long and lanky, and she was beginning to fill out, James saw the way men in the family were beginning to look at her.

James swiped a hand over his face.

“I didn't ask for any of this,” he spat.

She rolled her eyes, she was getting too good at pushing his buttons. Sometimes he wished that she were the heir, she would make for a decent boss. But, that wasn't her role in the family. Not unless James renounced his claim and denounced his family. He thought about it more often than not nowadays.

“I didn't ask if you wanted it or not. We can all see that you don't want it. The family can sense it.”

He looked up at her. Sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

“What would you have me do then? Lie?”

Natasha stood up, she came around to his side, flipping her butterfly knife as she came closer. James sat back in his chair, waiting for her to make her point.

“I would have you commit. You've been ordained, so act like it. If you don't, someone else will.”

James sighed.

“It would be easy. You're always too defenseless. You act like you don't care what happens to your life. Like you don't care what happens to the family. You need to get your head out of your ass.”

James rolled his eyes and turned to face her.

“This has been my family since before I was born. No one would dare and try and take it from me.”

“That's where you're wrong, Little Prince. Your superfluous attitude is causing a rift. Some think that your father wasn't hard enough on you, coddled you too much, made you into a spoiled man unfit for leadership. Others believe you will grow into it, change who you are and make the family stronger.”

“And what do you believe, spiderling?”

Natasha smirked and sat on the edge of his desk, “I believe you have potential, Bucky. But, I don't think you're going to get anywhere if all you can see is what you want. And right now, all I see is a spoiled brat. If your sister were alive she would be ashamed of her big brother.”

Bucky bristled at that,”Don't you dare to assume that you even knew my sister-”

Natasha leapt off the desk, placing her knife against his throat,”And don't you dare assume that I didn't. I knew her just as well as you did, brother. Or did you forget the fact that your father adopted me? She was just as much my sister as she was yours. The only difference with her death is that I didn't let it consume me, not in the way it did you.”

Bucky glared at her, feeling the knife bite into his skin,”Sometimes, I believe you were his natural born daughter instead of an adopted bitch.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes and pressed harder into his skin,”And sometimes I believe you're nothing but a bastard. You can't possibly be father's son, you're too snively.”

Bucky shoved at her, pushing her light weight off of his throat and causing her to slam into the desk behind her. She looked at him, fire too bright in her eyes.

“I'm no coward.”

She scoffed, standing up straight and looking him in the eye.

“Prove it then.”

She swung at him, knife grazing his cheek and drawing blood. Bucky grimaced and brought his hand to his cheek.

“I'm going to kill you,” he spat.

She scoffed and motioned for him to come at her. As he drew back to reach for his gun, not intending to kill her per-say, but maim, the door handle started to turn. As his fingers curled around the gun and Natasha's fingers twitched around her knife, his father walked into the office.

“Children,” George said as he came in, taking off his black leather gloves.

Natalia bristled as she glowered at Bucky while Bucky stared back just as equally vicious.

“Natashenka, if you wouldn't mind giving me some time alone with my son.”

Natasha blew a breath out of her nose as she slowly turned and then stormed out of the room. Bucky watched her go, smirking as she was driven from the room.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” George said as he came to sit in Bucky's now empty chair.

Bucky side stepped his father and stood in front of him, arms crossed like a petulant child. His slicked back hair was falling in his eyes, the small cows-lick brushing against his eyebrow.

“I've heard some nasty rumors floating around; about you. I've been told, by numerous sources,” he said while rearranging Bucky's desk,” that you intend to renounce your title and our family. Now, I know you wouldn't do something as stupid as that, now would you? Because you know what happens when you turn your back on family, don't you? I don't take you for a stupid boy, but I've been wrong before.”

George sat back into the chair, pulling out a cigar in the meantime. He lit it and drew a breath in before staring down Bucky. The look was cold, it was a look he wore when he meant business. Bucky's skin crawled.

“Are you listening to me, boy? Stand at attention, like you give a damn. Because, I gotta say, I'm not convinced you're really listening to me.”

Bucky let his arms drop to his sides, standing at attention and giving his father his undivided attention.

“This might be hard for you to grasp, but the fate of the family rests in your pristine unscathed hands. I had faith in you when you were first coronated, you were an ordained a man, baptized, and sworn in. You said the family words, you committed, but now, I'm not sure you want it bad enough. I'm not sure I should have given it to you at all. Maybe I should've handed it to Pierce, he's a bit dodgy around the edges but he gets what he needs to do done. I don't trust him, but he'd be a hell of a better ruler than you ever will be. When I look at you, my son - my _young_ son, - I see cowardice and weakness.”

Bucky's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed.

“If you don't get your _shit together_ , I'll make sure you do,” George said as he put the cigar out on the desk edge.

He got up, slowly passing Bucky and stopping to look him in the eye.

“I make good on my promises boy, you best of all know that.”

Bucky glared at him, fists balling in anger. His father passed him and walked out of the door, leaving it open, flaying Bucky's emotions and emasculation open for the world – the family – to see.

***

At his eighteenth birthday party, there was supposed to be a grand party. Though he was already a man in the eyes of the mob, the law saw it differently. As a result, a huge affair was planned to have his coming of age ceremony be celebrated. It was more than a fully packed church, a semi binding contract, but rather a showing. His party was to let the people of New York, and beyond the state if need be, know just who was the next leader.

At Steven Strange's eighteenth birthday, the leader in training of the Irish mob in Queens, there had been a lavish party. One that filled the lower sections of Boston, Queens, and parts of New Jersey. There had been banners, a parade, and a dinner with the mayor. It was a move of power, one that must have cost more than what the mob was making. Nonetheless, it sent a message to the Barnes clan that they would have to up their game.

With Bucky having been two years in training under his father, and a few more to go, he was destined to be the most powerful mob boss. Yet, as he lay in bed, with the company of a thin blond, he did not feel it in his bones. His party was in a few hours, but here he was making love to a cheap whore. She was soft and small, easy for him to sink inside of and find pleasure. It was much more his style than any ostentatious party would ever be.

There was a knock at the door, he ignored it in favor of pile driving into the blond beneath him. He was sure that the guards and his father heard her.

“Bucky, don't you think you should be getting ready?” Clint from behind the door asked exasperatedly.

Bucky ignored him, concentrating on the blond and the pleasure he found there.

“For fucks sake, your father is going to kill me, put some fucking clothes on and let the slut go home. Jesus christ, been at it for two hours.”

Bucky smirked, but made no move to leave the bed until he was fit to do so. Thirty minutes later, a blond with much too smudged lipstick and a disheveled dress emerged from the room. Bucky sat on the bed, downing a bottle of water as Clint stormed into the room. He flicked the lights on and glared at Bucky.

“You have an hour to get ready, take a shower and wash the reek of sex off yourself.”

Bucky smirked,”Why so upset Barton, upset you can't fuck a girl like I can? Make her cum like I can?”

Clint rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you do in bed is your own prerogative, I'm just here to make sure you make it on time.”

Bucky was quiet, swishing the water in his mouth.

“So get your ass out of bed,” Clint said as he started to walk to Bucky's closet.

“Clint,” Bucky said, standing up in his boxers.

Clint stopped and turned, hands on his hips.

“Clint, I'm not gonna make it.”

Clint narrowed his eyes, eying Bucky with suspicion.

“Haha, very funny.”

“Clint I'm serious,” Bucky growled.

Clint rolled his eyes and turned back to the closet, opening the doors but stopping short. The racks were barren, and only dress shoes and suits were left inside. He slowly turned to face Bucky.

“You're serious.”

Bucky shrugged.

“I think it's time I took my own life into my own hands. Go to college, make my own life. Make my own decisions for christ's sake.”

Clint nodded, pursing his lips as he did so.

“What will you do?”

“I don't know, shit. I've already got a few years worth of college credit under my belt, maybe go for a bachelors. Do business, the clean way. Do something better with my life.”

“And you understand what this will do? To your family? To your father, your mother, to Nat?”

Bucky slumped down on the bed,”It'll hurt them, but they'll get over it. They'll find someone else to replace me with.”

Clint scoffed,”Replace you? Your father will hunt you down.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and stood up, reaching for his discarded clothes as he did so.

“He won't. He can't afford to. He'll make up some lame ass excuse as to why I'm not here.”

“Bucky, you can't leave now. Not before the party, do you know what it'll do to him?”

“I don't care! I want to go live my life Clint, I'm tired of people telling me what to do and where to go and _who to be_.”

Clint was silent as Bucky continued to pull his clothes on. Even as Bucky reached for his suitcase, he didn't say a word.

“I won't ask you to help me, but I'm asking you, as my friend – my brother, to not say anything until after I'm gone?”

Clint mulled it over, his silence leaving Bucky on edge.

“I'll do my best,” he said.

Bucky cracked a smile, bringing Clint in for a hug.

“But you better go now, Sam is on his way. He won't let you leave.”

Bucky grinned and pulled his shoes on and then went to the window. He threw his bag out the window and started to step out of it and to the nearby tree. He looked back, back at the childhood bedroom with rumpled sheets and back at one of his best friends. This would be the last time they would see each other, Bucky was sure that they wouldn't meet again unless they needed to. But, he was convinced they wouldn't need to.

“I'll see you around,” Clint said with a small wave.

“Not if I see you first,” Bucky said, and with that he was gone.

Not a sound except for the breeze was heard, and Clint left the room. Standing guard outside and pretending like he hadn't let the heir to the Avengers leave.

***

The fire was hot, the flames were too high, and there was screaming. He wasn't sure if it was from his own mouth or if it was his mother's. It didn't matter, either way someone was dead.

He hadn't meant to trip over the toys he left in his mother's room, effectively causing the row of candles she set on her credenza to topple over into the curtains. At eight, he didn't know any better. But she had told him countless times that day, hacking and coughing around the house, to clean his things up. He hadn't listened, instead favoring to read about dragons and pretend he was a prince in his mother's bedroom. Their room was large and the bed was big, he liked to pretend it was a castle. But as the flames ate up the vintage heirloom curtains and spread across the room faster than light, he knew he should have listened.

He sat there, crying as the flames reached his mother's bed and blocked him from crossing.

“Mama!” he shrieked.

Distantly, he was aware someone was calling his name from outside the bedroom door. The room was filling with smoke and traveling around him and outside the door. The bathroom was ablaze and the wall he shared with his mother was decaying. He tried to walk closer, debris from the ceiling falling in front of him as he cried and screamed.

The temperature was climbing, he could feel it in the sweat on his brow and the way his clothes were starting to stick to him. The crying however, made things worse. It made his head pound and his eyes blur, but most of all it caused his breath to hitch and constrict. An oncoming asthma attack was beginning, the smoke inhalation wasn't helping either. He could feel his lungs constricting, a familiar anvil type weight settling on his chest as he started to gasp. Instinct overtook emotion as he tried to scramble for the door, burning his hand in the process as the antique brass knobs had heated up. He withdrew, and in a blur of asphyxiation he ran for the window, beating on the glass with his small hands. If he didn't get out now, he would die. He would be dead like his mother, his mother who's bed was ablaze and body covered in flames.

The glass was beginning to heat up and his lungs were feeling like they were filled with burning water. He pounded a little harder, feeling the glass shutter and stutter. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and weak. The edges of his vision were turning a purple black, pulsating and consuming him as the world started to get quiet and the things around him turned a pinkish blurry color. He was nearly slumping, but now was not the time to give up. With great effort and sheer luck, he reached for one of the metal frames his mother kept on the nightstand near the window. He beat it against the glass, his heart beating slower. It was after a few moments, from pressure inside the house, from his beating, or maybe even God that the glass broke and new air flooded in. The gasping didn't stop, not even as he pulled himself from the window, dragging his feet behind him in a twisted Die Hard way. Glass dug into his leg, minor scrapes, but his ankle caught on a shard; pulling it with him and embedding so close to the bone he could feel it.

He toppled on to the roof, small body convulsing and rolling down the slope. He rolled further into the gutter, and down onto the rose bushes his mother planted.

“Steve!” his father yelled.

Steve lay there, dying and suffocating as his house burned behind him.

***

The funeral was just, it was quaint, but also filled with so many people.

Here Lies Sarah Rogers April 12th 1972- October 15th 2005, A Mother and Wife

Steve wasn't sure what to think. After he woke up in the hospital with five stitches in his ankle, a sprained wrist, and on an oxygen tube, he had heard that their family home had burned to the ground with his mother inside. The firemen had determined that she had died from asphyxiation and that the fire was started by too many lit candles left unattended. But Steve, Steve knew that he caused it. He was the one who knocked the candles over and that she died from the smoke of fire he started. He told his father, but his father was not angry with him. He held his small shaking and grieving son and whispered that things would be okay.

However, soon after her death the medical bills and emergency service bills started to pour in. His father, Steve thought, was the richest man alive. They lived in a nice house on the outskirts of New York City, it was small and comfortable, near a small forest and a decent school. He thought that if they had such nice things and such a nice house, then his father must have been as rich as Steve thought his character was. But, Steve's father was a construction worker for Iron Monger Construction. The company was up and coming and payed well, as Joseph was the leading builder on many of their projects. He earned a fair income and coupled with Sarah's nursing job they broke even several times. But, as Sarah died and the bills came in and Joseph was struck with grief and an unforeseen single parenting option he cut his hours back. His performance dropped in the company as he tried to juggle taking care of an eight year old with PTSD and hold a job that required him to be on call all of the time.

Four months after his wife's death, Joesph was left go from the company after the mandated bereavement period and grace period ended. He was left jobless and homeless with his young son who thought the world of him.

He was forced to move back to the city with Steve and find a small apartment in Brooklyn. It was a small place, one bedroom and one bath, always filled with yelling and fighting but it would make do. He had enough money for two month's rent, but he would need to get a job. With it being December, part time holiday work was good. He was able to get a job at Macy's and JC Penny for the holiday rush, but it was only temporary.

The switch hadn't been easy for Steve, he was forced from his home into a big scary city without his father's protection and subjugated to abuse. School was tougher, being the middle of the semester, and soon he was singled out as the weakest. It was tough to get away from bullies when they were your neighbors and they knew your father worked all day and night.

It was a paradox to be bullied by kids in the same situation as him, he thought it cruel and unusual. Why bully someone when they are in the same position as you? Why not help one another? He supposed it was because they were jealous, he hadn't met hateful people in the world before until he moved into that tiny cramped Brooklyn apartment.

“What's on your mind?” Joesph asked as they sat at their dinky dining room table. It was not the paint stained mahogany wood dining table his mother coveted and spanked him for ruining.

Steve shrugged, not meeting his father's eye.

Joseph sat down his fork in the messy half frozen TV dinner. He placed a light hand on Steve's shoulder until his son looked at him. Steve did so, eyes bright with anger.

“Why did we have to move _here_? Why couldn't we go live somewhere else, like-like New Jersey or something?”

Jospeh smiled sadly,”New York is a lot closer than New Jersey is, sweetheart. We don't have a lot of money, and if we went to Jersey we would be left without a home. At least here we have a roof over our heads. And I have work now, so things are...easier.”

“I hate it here.”

Joseph pulled his son in for a tight hug,”I know buddy.”

“It's terrible. It smells bad, it's leaky, and the kids here suck.”

“Language,” Joesph said as he chuckled slightly.

“They do! They suck! Today I got pushed into the swing-set and then into a pile of mud! If that wasn't bad enough, when I got home they pushed me on the ground and emptied my backpack out.”

Joseph pulled away from his son,”Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“You're never here,” Steve spat.

“Hey, that's not fair. You know I want to be here, you know I love you. I work as hard and as long as I do for you. You're all I got left kido, and I'll always be here for you even if I'm not physically there. But about these bullies, I know you can beat them. I know you can, you don't have to fight them or get in trouble, but you can avoid them and outsmart them. You're a Rogers, and your kind and strong just like your mother was. I'll call the school in the morning to see if I can work something out, okay?”

Steve frowned but nodded regardless. He slumped back in his chair and continued to poke at his frozen dinner. His father looked just a bit longer at his son before turning on the television and flipping to an old movie. He flipped to _Casablanca_ , an old favorite of Sarah's. Steve perked up slightly and they watched the old black and white film together. For just a moment everything was okay, and they continued on the day broken but with a little less sadness in their lives.

***

Bucky was loving college. Well, the college life. So far, he had been to eighteen different frat parties, and it was only part way in the school year. It was December and Kappa Kappa Delta was having their annual “Sleigh Bae” party. Complete with very attractive sorority sisters and even better looking fraternity brothers.

Bucky was on his third shot that night when he saw a red mop of curls that caught his attention. At first, in his inebriated state, he thought it was Natasha. But, as the girl turned to him he realized it wasn't her. He no longer felt awkward or intimidated by a girl with such soft hair and kind eyes.

He approached the ginger girl slowly, the look in her eyes told him he wouldn't have to try as hard as he did with girls back home. She was small, and cute. Her eyes were a vivid clear green while the curls around her seemed liked she stepped out of a magazine. She was dressed in a short Santa outfit, similar to the ones girls wore after the release of _Mean Girls_ , but monogrammed just above her left breast was the symbol for her sorority. Bucky leaned against the door frame where she stood.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked in a silky voice.

Bucky hummed, preferring to let his actions do the talking. She laughed in return and took his hand in hers. They walked into the living room together where people were sitting around and talking with one another loudly. In the center of the winter wonder land was a glass table in which other kids were doing bumps. They would snort the white cocaine powder and sit back in the chair, waiting for the high to hit before succumbing to its full effects. There were other people in the room, some not drinking but standing around and talking with one another with disinterest on their faces. Others were drinking and talking loudly, some passing blunts between one another as the music blared on. He even spotted couples darting in and out of the room, and occasionally some girls slumped over tables where guys eyed their easy forms.

His attention was quickly pulled away from the surrounding scene and back to the ginger who was prodding him to sit down with her near the table and do a line. He had seen the adverse effect of drugs, his father had made sure that he knew to never test product. He smiled at her but didn't touch the powder, she shrugged in return and did a line. Instantly she changed from the bright eyed composed girl to a looser more easy target. She then tried to lead him back upstairs, stumbling all over her heals and falling several times into laughing fits.

He tried to help her up several times, before she ultimately collapsed into a heap upstairs in one of the bedrooms. He felt nervous about continuing with the suggested act, and as she laid there on the bed he decided against it. He watched her spaced out eyes and the high taking her over.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She moaned and waved at him. He glanced between her and the door which she motioned to. She gestured harder until he backed out of the room and shut the door. As he turned to leave and find a more willing (and less intoxicated partner), a lanky brunette caught his attention.

“She's a black widow, that one,” the brunette said to him as he walked over.

Bucky laughed,”She seemed pretty docile to me.”

The brunette pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his flannel collar riding low, and jeans fitting to his legs. Bucky thought he was attractive, his body fitting every check box. Bucky wasn't above vanity, after all he was eighteen and in college.

“That's how they all seem. I'm Pete, and you are?”

Bucky looked from the man's hand to his eyes, hazel,”Bucky.”

Pete puffed on his cigarette, noting how Bucky's eyes were drawn to his lips.

“So, Bucky, what's a pretty little thing like you doing here? I'm sure it's not for the company.”

Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, cracking a charming smile,”No, but that could change.”

Pete ran a hand through his hair and looked Bucky up and down, obviously liking what he was seeing.

“Could it, now?” Pete said.

“All I need is the right person to tempt me.”

Pete laughed, it was deep and charming,”What about me? Do I... _tempt_ you?”

Bucky swallowed hard, he was trying to keep from just grabbing Pete and dragging him into the nearest room. But, before he could make a witty remark, Pete was slowly unbuttoning his top. Bucky's eyes darted down from Pete's fingers and back up to his eyes. He licked his lips.

“Live up to your name?” Pete teased.

Bucky groaned and grabbed at Pete, pulling him roughly into one of the bedrooms and slamming the door shut.

***

“And stay down Rogers!” the school yard bully screamed at him.

The bully's mouth was red from where Steve had slapped him, but Steve's eye was a blackish blue and his knees were scrapped. He was small and still fragile, but he was a fighter. His father had taught him that much, and with the way he spoke of his mother it invigorated Steve's strength every time he was pushed down to the ground.

He got to his feet, wobbly and uncertain, but unwavering nonetheless.

“I can do this all day,” he said as he stood there defiantly.

The bully, Dean, turned around and smirked. He was thirteen, and had failed the sixth grade thus the reason why he was still in elementary school and dealing with Steve. He was big for his age, built for bullying and wrestling. He smelled of BO, which Steve speculated was because he couldn't afford to buy deodorant.

“You little shit,” he spat.

Steve raised his small hands in a defiant boxing stance, he would get taken down easily but at least he didn't have to tell his father he coward in fear. Dean ran at him with all his force, knocking Steve to the ground in a flurry. Steve felt his head hit the concrete and his spine jar with the impact. He gasped and tried to push Dean off of him, but as the boy was older by three years he easily pinned Steve down. With the younger boy pinned, Dean was able to wail on him with intense and unrelenting pain. He knocked his fist into Steve's eye, jaw, ears, and ribs depending on how much the blond struggled.

It wasn't until Steve was coughing and on the verge of an asthma attack that Dean let up. He called to his henchmen who stood by snickering as ten year old Steve was bashed, and together the three of them ran off down the small alleyway close to the apartments he lived in. Steve lay there, gasping for air for a few minutes until footsteps traveled down the alley.

At first, he thought that maybe it was the boys coming back to torment him further, but when he looked up through his swollen eye he saw that it was a man. The man was tall, and clean shaven with blue eyes and cropped brown hair. His smile was charming and his demeanor soft but intimidating.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Steve groaned and took the hand the man offered. He stood up and dusted his clothes off and shrugged his backpack on his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“Seems like it was quite a fight.”

“I had him in the ropes,” Steve quipped.

The man smiled and walked with Steve down the alley and to the busy New York street.

“I'm sure you did,” he said as he turned to Steve and leveled him with a stare,”Next time, keep your hands up over your face and use your size. Whoever did this knew he could do it to you because he was bigger, but even though you're small you can still pack a punch.”

Steve looked at him quizzically before the man winked and turned to leave. He quickly disappeared in the crowd and Steve was left to wonder who his savior was and why he helped a skinny lonely kid from Brooklyn.

He paused for a few moments and then shrugged before turning and heading in the direction of his apartment. He walked down into the courtyard area where people had their windows open and sat out on the porches in the meantime. It was May and the sun was beating down hot on him, he was beginning to sweat even before he reached the building.

He climbed the rickety staircase up to his apartment, assessing the scrapes, bruises, and cuts he could see. He knew his father would be upset with him for not being more careful and even more upset that the school hadn't kept their promise. He walked up to the door, unlocking it with the latchkey and stepping into the semi air-conditioned apartment.

“Dad! I'm home!”

There was no answer. He listened for the shower, sometimes after working at the fast food restaurant his dad liked to wash off the smell of grease and oil. There was no shower running, and Steve was certain he hadn't left for his second job yet. Even though it was thirty minutes from now, he always made sure to see Steve before he went to work. Steve frowned, fear creeping into him as to where his father might be. He would be disappointed if Joseph had left for work without saying goodbye, but would ultimately forgive him. Steve padded to the bedroom he shared with his father, planning to see if he was passed out in bed or just getting dressed.

As he went further into the smelly apartment, the sound of his bickering neighbors to the right and a WWE fight could be heard. _No wonder,_ he thought, _can't hear me over the sound of their fighting_. Steve rolled his eyes and pushed the bedroom door open, tossing his backpack to the side and kicking his shoes off as he came into the room.

“Hey Dad, did you hear me-”

Steve stopped short, seeing that the room was empty and looked around. He walked closer to his side of the bed, noting that the closet door was open. When he reached his side of the bed and looked at the closet, he saw a socked foot poking out from behind the door.

His heart rate picked up, he slowly approached.

“Dad?” he whispered.

When he came in front of the closet, he hesitated, tears already welling up as his dad didn't answer his call.

“Dad?” he asked a little more pitchy.

Steve reached the closet and gasped as he saw his dad laying there, unflinchingly. He dropped to the ground, going into hysterics and crying and screaming as his dad didn't answer his pleas or cries. It happened in a flash, like the fire, where someone – not his voice he didn't think – was calling the police. For long several minutes he sat there in the corner of the room crying and rocking back and forth. Maybe his dad would wake up? Maybe he was too tired? Maybe he pushed himself too hard and he passed out? But deep in his bones he knew his father was dead.

The sun was already a golden color by the time an ambulance and the police showed. The tenants in the other rooms gathered as the police smashed in his apartment door and burst back into the bedroom where Steve was with his father.

Medics went to the body, turning him over and ripping the shirt right off his chest to use the jaws of life. A police officer pulled him away from the scene where they were trying to resuscitate his father.

“Son, I need you to tell me what happened here as calmly as you can.”

“I-I don't know, I-I came home and-and he wouldn't answer me, I saw-I _saw him lying there_. He wouldn't answer me! He's dead, he's dead isn't he?”

The officer's face looked grim as he knelt down to Steve's height,”I don't know, but we're doing all we can for him right now. Is there anyone I should call to let you know about your father? Is there anyone here to take care of you?”

Steve's eyes were round, he shook his head and the realization that he was all alone started to sink in.

The officer stood up and radioed a code into his radio on his shoulder.

“Wait right here,” he said.

Steve was left sitting on the bed in his room as the medics wheeled in a gurney and called the time of death. All Steve could think was that he killed his father. The report was heart failure, he had killed his father by making him get too many jobs to support him. Not only that, but he killed his mother. The reason for the deaths of all the people he loved was because of him. Because of his recklessness and his selfishness.

When he finally snapped out of his daze, he met the gaze of a brunet woman.

“Steve, can you hear me?”

He frowned at her,”My name is Maria Hill, and I'm here with Child Protective Services.”

Fear spiked in him, they were going to take him away! Take him away from his father because of the bruises, they would think that his father did it to him! But...then he remembered, his father was under the white tarp on the gurney in his living room...

“As I understand it, you don't have anyone to call about your father?”

He shook his head no. Maria looked down quietly before looking back at him.

“Steve, do you have anyone left? A mother, a friend, an aunt or uncle I can call to come get you?”

“No,” he whispered,”they're all dead.”

Maria's face pinched, she seemed compassionate and genuinely in pain for him. It was the first time in a long time a stranger had shown him compassion.

“Okay. You'll have to come with me, and we'll figure out where to put you. For now, I'm going to have to place you in foster care until we can determine where to go next. Do you understand?”

Steve nodded and looked up at her, tears streaming down his face,”Why did everyone leave me?”

Maria swallowed hard before kneeling down again and placed a hand on his shoulder before hugging him tight. He cried into her khaki clad shoulder and sobbed as the life he knew came to a complete end.

***

He graduated less than two years later, at twenty he decided to go to Europe. In those two years since he left the family, he had gotten seven phone calls from Clint and one not so accidental run-in from Sam. It seemed however, that his father didn't want him back that much. But, he heard from Clint one day that his father's health was failing. Bucky was concerned, but skeptical about coming home lest he be trapped.

He had wanted to come home when his mother had broken her hip and even more so when Alexander Pierce broke away from the family, but he didn't. Sam had been disappointed in him when they met in a diner, and he turned down Sam's offer to return back to the family. He had been informed about his mother and father's health, the state of affairs both financially and socially, as well as Natasha's hatred and resentment. It was compelling and heartbreaking, but not enough to break his streak of selfishness.

It turned out, however, that it was the right choice to make. As soon as he landed in Europe a college connection was able to set up with a nice office job that quickly allowed him to climb the ranks. Business was in his blood, and Bucky felt better for it now that he was apart of something honest and true.

His job was clean and it was nice and it was quaint, but as his twenty-first birthday rolled around he was transferred back to New York to the American office. He had become the manager and executive of the European branch of the company and now was promoted to a chair position of the American based corporation.

Arriving back in New York was a surreal experience, the city was the same but he felt changed. As he stepped out of his cab and into the cool autumn rain, it felt as though he were reborn again. He let it soak into his skin before mounting the stairs to the lofty apartment his company setup for him in downtown Manhattan.

He had no doubt that his father heard of his arrival in town and was currently spying on him once again now that he was back home. He was sure a visit from Natasha, Sam, or Clint was long overdue. But, if he continued with his streak of avoidance he was sure that they would leave him alone and come to see him as a distant member of the family. He secretly hoped that one day, maybe, the family and his father would accept him once again, but more as a blood relation and less of an aristocratic heir.

As the night went on, Bucky settled into his apartment and waited for the rest of his new life to start as the junior senior executive of Iron Monger Construction. When day break came, and he showered and dressed, he headed out to the office with a pastry and coffee in hand. He felt confident and invigorated at the new beginning he would experience. By the time he arrived at the office, the partners and figureheads were assembled in the meeting room where Bucky would soon be welcomed as a brother.

He entered the room, smiling in his charming way, and getting a cold but yet friendly smile back from Obadiah Stane, the CEO of Iron Monger Construction. Obadiah waited until everyone found their seats to begin the meeting.

“Let me start off my saying, welcome, to our newest board member, Bucky Barnes,” he said in his grandfather clock voice.

Bucky smiled at the other members at the table who nodded.

“He's come all the way from across the pond to be here with us, and help the company to be even better than it already is!”

The members chuckled, and Bucky couldn't help but feel like he was left out of a private joke.

“Well, it's an honor to be here. I'm happy to be able to work so closely with such fine gentlemen in a company I believe in. I have no doubt that-”

“Yes, yes, well, we must move on to business,” Obadiah said, effectively cutting Bucky off with a quick interjection,”For today's agenda we're going to discuss the fiscal matters of the company and see where we can draw back our spending. Our profits have decreased by five percent, now five percent might not seem like a lot, but let me tell you, we will definitely feel it when we won't be able to participate in the annual golf tournament!”

Bucky frowned and laced his fingers together atop the desk, a sinking and gnawing feeling bugging him. He pushed it aside however, and naively thought that things would get better.

“Now – Tony, would you bring in the reports now.” Obadiah said as he pressed a small intercom button on the table.

A small raven haired man walked into the room with elegance and grace, his suit nice and polished, but his eyes and mouth set with a hardness that betrayed the good willed nature of his walk and actions. He handed out the reports on the table, saving Obadiah's for last. When the report was placed at Obadiah's seat, he looked at him with a flash of hatred and then cool easiness.

“Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

Obadiah licked his lips and then pursed them before shaking his head, dismissing Tony immediately. Tony walked out of the room and closed the door silently.

Obadiah chuckled, which drew a few other laughs from around the table,”Alright then, now to business.”

Bucky was left wondering at the awkward interaction that happened between Tony and Obadiah. The curious and defiant part of him begged for further inspection, but his naivety and loyalty forced him to follow the word of Obadiah.

The meeting drolled on with more and more discussions on what the board members were and weren't willing to give up in order to regain the profit they lost. In the end, much to Bucky's dismay, they had settled on firing one thousand workers and drawing back on quality materials to construct their European buildings with.

When he left the meeting, the nagging feeling drummed on inside of him. He stepped out of the office and into the space where Tony's desk was. Obadiah was still inside, discussing matters with some other board member.

“Not what you expected, I take it,” Tony said without looking up from his magazine.

Bucky paused before deciding that maybe Tony could be trusted with his true first impression,”No, I didn't think that it would be like that.”

“You're new, right? From 'across the pond' or whatever. New meat,” Tony surmised.

“Yes. I'm Bucky, Bucky Barnes,” Bucky said, extending a hand to Tony.

Tony looked up from the magazine and reached out his hand, shaking Bucky's with a twinkle in his eye.

“Any relation to George Barnes?”

Bucky drew his hand back, frowning,”No,” he deadpanned.

Tony smirked and leaned forward in his chair,”I think thou doth protest too much.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Makes no difference to me, not my company anymore.”

“Anymore?” Bucky asked.

Tony's eyes went hard and he shrugged with nonchalance, but Bucky wasn't fooled. He spent his life watching people, and he knew that this wasn't nothing for Tony.

“This used to be my father's company back in the day. When I was just a kid, it was Stark Industries then. But when Obadiah joined, he was able to weasel his way in and poof, there goes my inheritance.” Tony said.

Bucky frowned, curious and about to ask more questions when the office doors opened and Obadiah stepped out laughing with his colleague. He stopped and shook the man's hand, but eyed Bucky and Tony. When the man left, Obadiah stopped and patted Bucky's shoulder.

“Well, it certainly is nice to have you here, Barnes. I can see you met my secretary, Tony Stark. I'm sure he's been very informative on what a great office this is to work in.”

Bucky could feel the wave of distrust from Obadiah seeping out, but he brushed it off and smiled back at Obadiah.

“He was,” he lied,”and I have to say, I am looking forward to working with you sir.”

Obadiah smiled and looked at him before changing the subject.

“Let me show you around the office and your own office.” Obadiah said as he touched the small of Bucky's back to lead him away from Tony, and away from secret that Obadiah didn't want unleashed into the world.

Tony waved as they went, and Bucky's attention was ripped away from his suspicions. Obadiah showed him around the office, introducing him to important members of the company in person and inviting him to parties coming up at other worker's houses. By the time they reached Bucky's office, he had been introduced to fourteen different people and invited to five different social gatherings.

“So, what do you think?” Obadiah said as he opened the door to Bucky's office.

The door swung open to reveal a rather large office with an intimidating desk, mini fridge, couch, and two chairs. The full window wall faced downtown Manhattan with a view of the Empire state building and the cleaner streets of New York City. Bucky smiled, he liked what he saw.

“It's nice, it's very nice. Thank you,” he said.

Obadiah smiled without teeth and walked around the desk, readjusting things as he saw fit. It set Bucky on edge, reminding him too much of his controlling father.

“Good, good. I hope so. I'm sure you'll like working for us. There are always rewards for those loyal to the work they do and those who work here.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, but Obadiah waved a hand to dismiss the thought.

“Anyway, I hope you like working here. I've left you a few cases to mull over, see what problems need fixing and how we can get around certain obstacles.”

“Right, of course,” Bucky replied.

Obadiah smiled once again and started to leave,”By the way, watch out for that one.”

“Sir?”

“Stark, he seems innocent, but he's a shark that one.”

Obadiah left a silence between them that Bucky wasn't sure what to fill with.

“It's good to have you here, Barnes,” he said as his final parting word, and left the room.

A terrible silence filled Bucky's office, and a voice he hadn't heard in a long time told him that there was more to here than what met the eye.

***

Steve hated the boys home. The first foster house he had been with was good, they were good to him, they were almost family to him, but it didn't last long. The family wouldn't adopt him for whatever reason, and after that he was ushered into a boys home even though his new counselor strongly protested against his placement there. But, the higher-ups didn't care, and he was placed into the home and given a new counselor that didn't care about him or his story.

The home was loud and boisterous. At thirteen, he had been around enough hormonal teenagers to know what the boys home would be like. It was like how he thought when he first arrived, and now that he had been here for six months it never changed. The boys were rough and the managers of the home were even rougher. Perhaps that was why they targeted Steve, after all he was the smallest and weakest of them all.

If it wasn't bad enough that he was alienated at the boys home (because anyone who associated with Steve automatically became a target as well) he was alienated at school as well. Since he lived at the Lensherr Home for Boys, the kids at school often avoided him, as only the violent and abusive lived there. But, Steve didn't mind. It gave him time to draw and plan his future.

It was autumn on a rainy night when his life changed for the better, even if it was just a blip, it was a blip that Steve was forever grateful for.

They brought him in roughly and sat him down in the office, where Erik lectured the boy for hours on end. It seemed as though Erik knew him personally or that he had been there for a while and recently just returned. When he was released from the office it was already nine at night, and the boy did not look remorseful for whatever he had done that ruined Erik's temperament.

Steve, at first, ignored the boy until he was forced to interact with him. He had settled into bed, hair damp from a late shower and teeth brushed, when the boy approached him.

“You're in my bunk.”

“What?” Steve said.

“You're in my bunk. This is my bed.” the kid said.

“I don't see your name anywhere,” Steve spat.

The kid smirked before dragging Steve out of bed and throwing him on the ground, quickly snapping a few punches on him before relenting.

“It's my bunk. Clear now?”

Steve stood up,”Like hell.”

The boy turned and raised an eyebrow, he saw that Steve wasn't going to let up. He turned his back on Steve, and before Steve could attack, the boy pulled another boy out of the top bunk by his ankle. The boy on the top bunk thud to the ground and cursed, but when he looked up he went white.

“Wade,” he whispered.

Wade looked down at the boy,”Scram.”

The boy did as he was told and ran off into another part of he room where other boys snickered at him. Wade didn't look back at Steve, but instead crawled into Steve's bunk and closed his eyes.

“I don't think he'll be coming back,” Wade said quietly.

“What?”

“I suggest you get some sleep, unless you want to go find another bed in a full house,” Wade said as he turned on his side and ignored Steve.

Steve stood there bewildered for a moment and then slowly climbed the ladder up to the top bunk. He laid there for a few moments contemplating the generosity of the new boy he had come to meet.

***

“These numbers don't make any sense,” Bucky said as he combed a hand through his hair.

Tony crunched loudly on an apple behind him on the leather couch. He stared at the ceiling idly, lounging in his nightclothes after having spent the night at Bucky's. Since being in the office together with late nights (thanks to Obadiah's overworking the both of them), the two men had become good friends. Often times more than not, Tony and Bucky would go out drinking with one another and then crash at whoever's apartment was the closest. As it was Saturday night and they had gone to a fancy highball bar, they chose to crash at Bucky's.

“You're far too tipsy to be making any sense of numbers,” Tony mumbled.

Bucky rolled his eyes,”Oh and you're not, mister thirty-six ACT score.”

Tony faked laughter,”You know, you're not the only one who's struggled with making sense of those numbers.”

Bucky turned from the table to face him, pinning him with a look that asked questions and left no room for excuses. Tony shifted, slightly uncomfortable.

“I've just seen several of you guys, fancy and all too big for your Armani britches, come and go because they looked too far into where those numbers go. I'd just hate to see you go is all.”

“Are you telling me you're soft on me, Stark?” Bucky teased.

Tony shrugged,”You're the only person I've known who's been able to keep up drinking with me s'all.”

Bucky laughed and then turned back to the documents he was looking at.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say these numbers were tampered with,” Bucky whispered.

“Can't hear you Peach,” Tony called back.

Bucky frowned, he knew that something was wrong with the numbers Obadiah had given him to double check. If he didn't have his head buried in the sand, he would've said that there was either one of two things happening. One: Iron Monger Construction was laundering money or two: someone was embezzling funds from somewhere and adding the costs in to “charities”.

“What do you know about the Red Skull Donation Center?” Bucky asked Tony.

Tony shrugged,”Not much, except that Obadiah holds a fancy gala every December before Christmas in its honor. It's supposed to be about cancer research, bone marrow or something.”

“What about Insight Enterprises and Dark Elf Inc.?”

Tony sat up, now looking at Bucky with purpose and attention.

“They're other charities Obadiah funds every year. What are you getting at?”

“There are large amounts of money coming from one unmarked account of the company's, but in the reported fund spent for the IRS these 'donated' funds aren't being reported. Where is the money going and where is it coming from?”

“Don't know,” Tony said, frowning,”but I think you should leave it alone.”

“Why? Obadiah put me in charge of fiscal reports and managing budgets for his domestic and foreign departments. Shouldn't I know where the money is going and coming from?”

“Barnes, I'm telling you to leave it alone.”

“Why though, it's not like-”

“Not like they'll kill you? Ever see the movie _The Firm_? Think about it this way, you're young Tom Cruise and the Iron Monger Construction is like the evil old white guy in the movie that's trying to get him killed.”

“Who are you in this scenario then?”

Tony smiled devilishly,”I'm the plucky secretary that Gary Bussey was fooling around with. Here to help and keep you out of danger.”

“Wouldn't that make you Gene Hackman then?”

Tony huffed and sat back on the couch grumbling about how Bucky never let him have any fun.

“If you're really Holly Hunter in his scenario, then you'd help me even if it cost your life.” Bucky deadpanned.

Tony was silent for a few minutes, even the crunching of his apple was absent. Bucky eyed him for a few moments before looking back at the papers.

“I need your help Tony, something isn't right about this and I need to find out what it is.”

Tony sighed dramatically,”You're to noble Barnes, but god bless you if I'm not a sucker for adventure.”

Bucky grinned and then set to making connections and finding addresses as well as names for the people in charge of the three companies Obadiah donated to.

On Monday morning, Bucky had neglected most of his work of looking at funds and cutting out programs as well as workers both at home and over seas in favor of making phone calls to the three questionable charities. So far, he had discovered that Red Skull Donation Center consisted of three half wit men who could never give him a straight answer on what the company did and where the office was located and a similar answer from Dark Elf Inc. and Insight Enterprises. He was left with even more questions than what he started with.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a cheerful knock at the door and then Obadiah sticking his head into the office.

“Hey there kid, how's it coming along.”

Bucky sighed and faked a strained smile,”Not bad, it's coming along.”

“Good, good,” Obadiah said as he came to sit on the edge of Bucky's desk, effectively making Bucky the littler person in the room.

“Is there something I can help you with,” Bucky said as the silence stretched on for a little longer.

“Oh yeah, I did come in here for something. I got a call from a few friends of mine that I donate funds to to help with cancer and blood disease research and what not. They said that you've been calling over there a lot this morning. I don't see why you would need to though, so I just came to check on you to make sure that everything was going alright.”

Bucky straightened his tie before sitting up and leaning against his desk,”Of course,” he lied,”I was just calling to see what preparations they had made for the benefactor event coming up. I know we donate to them, so I just wanted to make sure they were getting a long well.”

Obadiah smiled without teeth and looked at Bucky with dull eyes,”I like it. Showing initiative. It's a smart move on your part, Barnes.”

Obadiah got up off of Bucky's desk and moved to the door, but as he grabbed the handle he turned to face Bucky one last time to get the last word in.

“Let's not make it a habit though, they're very busy over there.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And one more thing Barnes, stick to your work or else I might think you're not taking your job seriously and doing the work I assigned you.”

Bucky nodded as Obadiah left the room, and the sinking feeling returned to his stomach like ominous _Jumanji_ drums. Something wasn't right here, and his old instincts he tried so hard to bury from the family were coming back.

***

“I'm telling you, you have a shit poker face,” Wade said as he collected the remainder of Steve's pocket money.

“I'm playing the way you taught me,” Steve whined.

Wade grinned and then looked at Steve,”Sweet thing, I didn't teach you everything I know.”

Steve frowned. Wade stood up, collecting the remainder of the ratty cards and the chips he stole from the rec room. He shoved them into his tattered JNCO jeans and held out a hand for Steve to take. Steve took his hand and stood up, dusting off the basement dust from his clothes.

It was December by now, and it was chilly down in the basement. In autumn, they had been able to get away with their minimal clothes and hide the fact that they were sneaking down here, but now that the frost was upon them it was getting tricky. They had to haul down here with them their coats and hats, all while without looking like they were skipping out on chores and leaving the group home.

“So,” Wade started as they snuck out of the basement door on the side of the building,”what'd you get me for Christmas?”

Steve rolled his eyes,”What makes you so sure that I got you anything for Christmas? You took all of my money.”

It was Wade's turn to roll his eyes,”Rogers, everyone knows you're a softie. I know you got me something for Christmas. If you didn't I'll break your nose again.”

Steve rolled his eyes once more,”Come on Wilson, we're going to be lake. Erik's gonna be pissed if he finds out you ditched again.”

Wade grumbled as they trudged through the alley way slush and to the back door. They walked into the semi heated hallway and put their coats on the rack, brushing any moisture left on them off. They made their way down the hall and past the kitchen where a few of the older boys were pealing potatoes. They made sure to cross the doorway when they weren't looking and dart for the stairs leading up to their floor. When they made it to their room, some of the other boys were laying in bed staring at the ceiling while others looked at nudie magazines they had swiped from the shop down the street.

Steve and Wade made their way to their shared bunk and plopped down on Wade's bed, scooting back into the corner. It was, by far, the most private spot in their shared bedroom. It allowed the two boys to discuss whatever they wanted without having to worry about listening ears.

“So Rogers, how's the love life?” Wade said, making conversation.

“Love life?” Rogers scoffed.

“You might be the densest man I've met,” Wade said.

“Well excuse me,” Steve said crossing his arms.

“You're excused,” Wade quipped as he pulled out his pocket knife to clean his fingernails.

“You're disgusting,” Steve said as he kicked Wade's knee.

“I knick myself and you're sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“But seriously, how are things going?”

Steve shrugged,”Same as always.”

“No girl catch your eye yet?”

“Girls don't look at me,” Steve said petulantly.

“What about boys?” Wade said.

“ _Boys_?” Steve sputtered.

His heart began to race as he thought about the possibility of Wade finding out he was gay. He had been careful to hide it, his longing looks at older boys and mostly Wade.

“I'm just kidding,” Wade teased,” I know you don't go that way or else you'd jump me in my sleep because I'm that handsome.”

Steve laughed,”Yeah right, Romeo.”

Wade smiled, continuing to clean his nails.

“What do you think they're making for dinner tonight?”

“Gruel,” Wade supplied.

“My favorite,” Steve said.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence just listening to the sounds around them before Steve went to grab his sketchbook. Wade had stollen it for him one day when they were on the nicer part of Brooklyn, closer to Manhattan. Steve had managed to get his hands on a few pencils in the store too, and was careful to keep the items hidden. There wasn't much he owned and whatever some of the boys did own before coming here or acquiring while being here were all up for grabs. If he wasn't careful, one of them might take his sketchbook and defile what was inside or even just take the book for whatever reason. Privacy was a privilege here that he coveted and had only recently gained since befriending Wade.

Due to Wade's sheer insanity at some points during the day and violent tendencies as well as his age, Steve was more than likely the most protected boy at the Lensherr Home for Boys. By himself, however, he was a target. But, since the morning when he woke up and Wade had arrived he was under a veil of protection from other boys. However, being with Wade had its drawbacks. While the protection and company was good, Wade himself was a little unstable.

At times he would be himself and then other times it was like he was someone else. It was the reason for his broken nose and a new scar on the back of his neck. But, still Steve considered him a friend. He had gotten used to Wade's outbursts as well as learned how to navigate them.

“What are you drawing?” Wade asked, leaning on Steve slightly and looking over his shoulder.

“The usual,” Steve said.

“You've gotten better. She looks like you know,” Wade said as he watched Steve's hand move.

The majority of the sketches in Steve's book were of his childhood home and his mother and father. Other sketches included violent outlandish things he had witnessed at the home and on the streets with Wade. It was diary of sorts for him, and therapeutic when he was in times of distress.

“What was she like?” Wade asked for the billionth time.

At first, it bothered Steve that Wade would ask about his mother so much and what it was like growing up, but as they got closer it didn't bother him that much. He soon discovered, from other boys, that Wade had been an orphan his whole life. After learning that, Steve was happy to share his limited memories. The memories he shared often sated Wade and left him in a sleepy sort of silence that was comfortable for both of them. Steve suspected that it was because Wade liked to imagine that his mother would have been like Sarah, and the more that Steve talked about her the more he felt like he could still feel her.

So, he told Wade every minute detail about her in the hopes that it would make his best friend happy.

***

Bucky had been careful at the “charity” function. He had spied and taken mental notes on the people there as well as who Obadiah talked to and what about. As time wore on, his suspicions turned to beliefs and soon he was turned against the good natured feeling he had for Obadiah.

He walked out of the elevator and to his apartment. It was another futile day, and he had not gotten any closer to figuring out where the money was coming from and where it was going. He had a sinking suspicion that it was Obadiah taking the money out of the company, but he couldn't be sure due to two other people in the company.

He pushed the door open, and to his small surprise, Natasha was sitting at his dining room table. She had grown up since he had seen her last. She was all curve and hard edges now, her hair was short and a darker red from the thirteen year old she had been. He suspected she might be nineteen by now.

“Natasha,” he said as he sat his keys in the bowl by the front door.

“James,” she said while twirling a knife.

Bucky sighed and came to sit by her,”If you're here to kill me, just get it over with.”

Natasha quirked a cold smile,”Don't flatter yourself. Your father would never let me do it, he said I'd take too long and make it painful.”

“Would you?” Bucky asked.

Natasha skipped over the question,”Your father is dying.”

“How can I trust what you're telling me.”

Anger flashed behind her green eyes,”Do you really think I would come see you in person if this was a ploy? I hate you too much to even see your face, I'm here as a favor to your father.”

“How fatal is it?” Bucky asked, feeling a pang in his heart at her words.

“It's cancer, stage four. Pretty fatal.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky cursed,”how long does he have?”

“They told him he'd die by Christmas, but seeing as that has already passed, I think it's a little longer. I think he's waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“For you. I think he wants to tell you something, the old sentimental bastard.”

Bucky snickered,”He really would postpone his death out of spite for me, wouldn't he?”

Natasha didn't say anything.

“Can I see him?”

“He's your father, James.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“There's been talk of denying you the right to see him, but I think if you come they won't do anything about it. Family is strong, even if you leave it.”

Bucky assumed he deserved that hit.

“I want to see him.”

“Then go see him.”

“I can't just yet, I have to take care of something first.”

Natasha laughed and crossed her arms,”Typical. Even when your father is dying, you won't stop being selfish.”

“Nat I'm not-”

“Save it James,” she said as she planted her knife in his expensive table and got up to leave.

She didn't even turn around or say goodbye, all she did was slam the door shut and leave. Bucky sighed, dragging a hand down his face and slumping back in his chair. He looked at her knife, and at the word she had carved in his table. Coward.

Bucky supposed he deserved that too. Family ran deep, and he broke that sacred bond.

***

It was Valentine's Day when Bucky finally figured out where Obadiah was stashing his money. It was with the help of Tony's new boy toy that he finally figured it out. He was trying to go along the straight and narrow path, but since Obadiah wasn't playing by the rules he figured he shouldn't either.

Tony's boyfriend Bruce was an expert hacker and studying at NYU to become a doctor. Tony had managed to put his charms to the test and persuade his boyfriend into hacking into the company's server. From there, Bruce was able to set up firewalls and use a back door to get into Obadiah's private files. After some rather boring browsing on the computer (filled mainly with cat photos, Bucky wasn't surprised given the total evil villain vibes that Obadiah sprayed on every morning like cologne), they were able to find a series of passwords linked to emails and accounts that weren't linked to the company.

They were all sitting at the table when Tony and Bruce both started to piece together where the passwords fit and how to use them.

“I got it!” Tony exclaimed.

Bucky moved to stand by them, looking from Tony to Bruce's screen.

“What is it, Bruce asked,” coming to life finally.

“Move over darling dearest, and I'll show you,” Tony said as he all but butted Bruce out of his chair.

Tony did a series of clicks on the computer and brought up websites that Bucky had never heard of before. He was new to the internet thing and how it worked, he was ashamed to admit he felt like a dinosaur in a room full of people his own age.

Tony brought up a malicious looking cite, that when clicked on in a tirade of patterns revealed a secret log in menu. The website soon faded from an insurance website to a black screen with a simple user and password prompt. Tony typed in a few phrases from the cheat sheet of passwords Obadiah kept lying around on his computer.

The screen then paused and froze, and Bruce panicked thinking that maybe malware had been installed on his computer.

“Tony I swear to god if you got my computer infected-”

The computer dinged, and the three men looked at the screen. A series of numbers with other numbers appeared like walls from the Matrix. Bucky was confused, not used to online programs.

Bruce watched as Tony typed in a string of binary numbers to reveal yet another set of password and user identifications. It went on like this until the third time, when the doors opened and heaven sang and Bucky's hunch was confirmed.

There on the small early 2000s computer, was the answer Bucky was fearing. Obadiah was steeling money from the company and putting it into off shore accounts, but worst of all was the account that the money was being drawn from.

Due to the sheer number of employees Obadiah fired in the past few months, he was able to save on pension money. But, it was surprising to see the that the number of worker's listed as needing pension money listed was only a quarter of what the company actually employed. In short, Obadiah was stealing pensions from his elderly workers, firing most of them before they reached retirement age, and then pocketing the cash they needed for retirement for his own selfish needs.

Bucky sat down hard in his chair, for once Tony was speechless.

“All my life,” Bucky started,” I have been trying to run from the corrupt and make an honest living out of my life. I left my father's family to get away only to end up back into a cycle of corruption. Is this what my life is now? Am I just doomed to be in a repetitive cycle of misgivings and villainy?”

No one said anything for a long time as Bucky grieved the loss of his naivety.

“I wish I never pursued it,” Bucky said bitterly.

Bruce spoke up,”I'm not. If you hadn't stumbled upon this, we never would've known that this man was stealing old people's money.”

“But what do we do now that we know?” Bucky snapped.

“Redistribute it,” Tony said, quick as ever.

“What?” Bruce and Bucky said in unison.

“Redistribute it. Like Robin Hood. This fucker took money that wasn't his and he's been doing some evil shit since before I was born, he deserves it.”

“Tony-” Bruce started.

“No, don't Tony me. Obadiah Stane stole from my father. He plotted his 'accidental' suicide and cut me out of my father's will. He took this company of grandeur and has turned it into his sick ponzi money scheme. He deserves to pay. I say we take back his money – the people's money.”

“Tony, what you're suggesting breaks so many laws,” Bruce said.

“Do you think Obadiah gave a damn about that!” Tony yelled.

Bucky sat there, quiet, before acknowledging Tony,”You're right. Obadiah is a cruel man. What he did to you and what he's done to thousands of his employees is despicable. But I don't think we should just drain this account. I think we should do much worse.”

“Oh good,” Bruce said with dark sarcasm,”now we're all a bunch of criminals! What you both are discussing is theft and an invasion of privacy!”

“No,” said Bucky, cutting Bruce off,” it's embezzlement. We're going to hit Obadiah hard, right where it hurts and I'm going to make sure his company crashes down to the ground in the mean time. He had it coming.”

Tony grinned,”Spoken like a true Barnes man.”

Bucky's face was solemn, but he nodded. He was more like his father and the family than he thought he ever would be.

***

It was Valentine's Day when Steve would finally get his first kiss. He hadn't been expecting it and hadn't been hoping it would happen. He was completely unaware of how it would happen, where it would happen, and who it would be with.

School had been depressing. As per usual, the other kids at school walked around with flowers from their boyfriends or got carnations in class from their secret admirers. It seemed to Steve that he was probably the only kid in America who didn't get a Valentine's card or a single carnation. By now, he was used to it. For him, Valentine's Day was just another day in the year. For many of the boys at the home, it was the same. They didn't celebrate or talk about the day much, except for a few of the older boys who were lucky enough to get girlfriends and sneak out when Erik was asleep to go visit their honeys.

Steve was prepared for another disappointing year, ready to vent to Wade about how stupid the holiday was when they both got out of school. Since Steve was only thirteen, he was till stuck in middle school unfortunately. Stuck in a cesspool of hormones all day long, while Wade had just started high school. He was fifteen, and often liked to parade that fact in front of Steve. It never bothered him much until Wade would flaunt how much older he was in an obnoxious manner that would cause Steve to snap.

School had just gotten out for him around three-o-clock that afternoon, and as per usual, Steve left the school and walked two blocks to the high school nearby to wait for Wade. Wade had been pissed the first few months when Steve showed up every day to wait for him, but as the school year went on it no longer bothered him. So, Steve would wait every day bored out of his mind for an hour and a half until Wade was finally released from school.

He would sit on the steps of the high school and count the cars passing by or watch the people who walked by him. Sometimes he would even cloud watch. It was the one time during his day where he was left completely alone with his own thoughts, and try as he might he could never get the static in his brain to shut up.

The school bell rang, and Steve sat up a little straighter. He stood up and turned to face the front school doors, like a puppy waiting for its owner. A few kids ran out of the school and then a slower blockier wave flooded out of the doors. In no time, Wade was there walking up to Steve with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Hey,” Steve greeted.

Wade smiled a little wider and slung his arm around Steve, dragging the younger boy with him as they started their Friday afternoon ritual. First they would leave the campus and then walk down to the deli on the corner where Wade would buy a pack of shredded gum and Steve would get a slurpee. It was their weekly expense they each saved up for.

“What are you in such a good mood for?” Steve asked.

“I'm glad you asked, my dear Steven,” Wade boasted.

Steve knew that tone, it was the one that Wade used on him when he cleaned him out during poker.

“You're looking at a boy who just got three girls' phone numbers and a nasty make out session for fifteen minutes in the janitor's closet today,” Wade gloated.

Steve felt jealousy and anger spike in his chest. He glowered at the sidewalk as they kept walking. When Steve didn't say anything, Wade stopped them just outside the deli.

“What's wrong? Aren't you happy for me?”

Steve shrugged his arm off,”Of course I am.” he said before turning on his heel and walking inside the store.

Wade followed him a few seconds later, anger beginning to take over his jovial mood. He stormed after Steve, stalking him down the aisles and angrily grabbing his gum off of the shelf before meeting Steve by the slurpee machine.

“Really? Are you now?” he said, voice getting testy.

Steve sighed,”Yes, I am.” he snapped.

He filled his drink and walked away from Wade and to the register. He set his drink down and fished out his change. Wade walked over to him, slamming his gum down on the counter to pay for.

“You don't sound like it, you're being a cunt,” he snapped back.

Steve frowned and Wade all but threw his money at the cashier before storming out of the establishment. Steve muttered an apology and followed after Wade, his turn to catch up to a diva. Wade kept walking, angrily ripping apart the packaging to get to his gum.

“Look, I'm sorry. It's just not fun for me to hear about all the girls you mack on and how you can't wait to get into their panties,” Steve said with inching sympathy.

Wade turned his ferocious glare on Steve, causing Steve's eyes to round slightly.

“Well ex-fucking-cuse me for not taking _your_ feelings into account. I just had a kick ass day, I'm sorry it wasn't as mopey as yours obviously was.”

Steve frowned again. Wade scoffed and walked away again towards the boys' home.

“Sometimes, you're such a dick!” Steve exclaimed.

“Oh cry me a river,” Wade shot back.

Steve's face and neck reddened as anger started to boil up inside of him. He had wanted Wade to empathize with him about how stupid Valentine's Day was, but he didn't get what he wanted. Instead, what he got was Wade gallivanting around his accomplishments and boasting about how great Valentine's Day was. There was also a small part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge that was jealous that some other girls were able to outwardly show their feelings to Wade and have them be reciprocated. Steve wanted nothing more than to be able to have the same.

Steve chased after Wade who was currently climbing the emergency fire escape to the roof. Usually on Fridays they would sit up there together and look at comic books or just talk. Today, Steve thought they would have different plans. More than likely a fight, he just hoped it didn't escalate too much. Steve climbed the fire escape to the top where Wade was pacing angrily.

“Jesus Christ,” Wade cursed as Steve clamored up to the top.

Steve tossed his backpack aside, looking at Wade as the wind ripped through both of their clothes. Without warning whatsoever, Wade charged at Steve, toppling them both to the ground. They rolled around with each other, pushing and shoving. It lasted for a few minutes before Wade pinned Steve down by his arms and sitting on his chest.

“Just be happy for me!” Wade yelled.

Steve snarled and tried to push him off. He struggled for a few more minutes before Wade grabbed his face with one hand, Steve prepared for the punch on the side of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, his body going rigid. When no blow came, he opened his eyes Wade was looking down at him with glassy eyes.

“You're such an idiot,” he said before he ducked down and kissed Steve right on the mouth.

It was shaky and soft, almost uncertain and unpracticed. When he pulled away, he scrambled off of Steve and crossed his arms.

“What?” Wade snapped.

“Why did you...?” Steve asked, sitting up.

He was shocked and unprepared, but delighted nonetheless. He was skeptical however and confused.

“Shut up,” Wade snarled.

Steve sat there bewildered for a few moments, just staring at Wade, his cheeks heated and eyes wide.

“Shut up, I don't know-I don't,” he said, face going red.

Steve only looked at him, giving his friend space to breathe and speak. Before he knew it, Wade was suddenly next to him again and pressing nervous but soft lips against his. Steve hoped to God it wasn't a dream and let Wade kiss him.

***

Bucky was being a dick. Tony thought he was laying it on too thick, but it seemed to please Obadiah. Their plan had been set in motion for about six months so far, Bucky was wining and dinning all of Obadiah's “partners” and basically sucking the man's dick in all meetings and parties. He had charmed Obadiah so much, that three key players had been fired from the company (per Bucky's gentle persuasion) and Bucky had been given solitary control over the finances that Obadiah never trusted with anyone else. Tony wasn't sure how he had pulled it off, but from the way that Bucky treated him during office hours gave him a glimmer of the type of attitude he had to put on during the day.

They hadn't spoken since the 4th of July, choosing for that to be the last moment they spoke publicly or privately. Since then, Bucky had been ruthless and reckless.

“Stark,” Bucky said as he threw folders at Tony's desk, causing the raven haired man to scramble for loose leaf pages,”have that faxed down to the fourth floor. Those idiots have no idea how to do a spreadsheet. Also, pick up my dry cleaning at the usual place, and Obadiah would like a coffee from that shop down in Queens. We have a meeting at 3:00 and I need you to take notes for us, these Japanese businessmen won't get off my back about fiscal reports and invoices. Be back here by 2:30, it's 12:00 right now and it'll take you an hour to get down to the shop and another hour to pick up my dry cleaning, so you should leave now.”

Tony glared at him, but Bucky only dropped his coat on to Tony's desk and walked into his office. Tony huffed, thinking the dramatics were going too far. He picked up Bucky's coat, feeling something rumpled and hard in the pocket. Tony frowned, reaching into the pocket to look at the paper inside.

Inside Bucky's coat was a small note marked with neat scripture 'Monday'. Tony knew what it meant, and he knew that Bucky's bullshit errands were all for show as he shredded the small piece of paper.

***

It had been a few days since Wade had kissed him for the first time, three to be exact, it was now Thursday and they hadn't said a word about it. Steve was afraid that maybe the spell would be broken if he said anything. That their poker games in the basement that had now turned into make out sessions, and their rooftop adventures were becoming more and more regular with hand holding. Steve had also noticed that along with Wade's kissing and hand holding, his behavior became more gentle and less erratic.

The only problem, however, was that Wade had gotten himself a girlfriend. The girl he had kissed, Nancy Robins, had become his girlfriend and while he and Wade would hold hands on the roof, Wade would prattle on about her for hours. It sounded more like he was trying to convince Steve he liked her more than he liked Steve.

Eventually, when Wade wouldn't stop talking about her, Steve would lash out and Wade would smirk with a knowing look that got Steve's ears hot. At that point, Wade would sling an arm around Steve and say 'bud, you know you're my only guy'. Steve would flush and lean into the touch, not quite sure what that meant but going along with it.

After a certain point, before the sun set fully, Wade would shyly duck his head and pick off the threads on his jeans until none were left. It made Steve's heart race, he knew what Wade was going to ask him. Wade would lick his lips and then with a soft voice, ask if Steve wanted to play poker with him. If Steve said yes, they would go down to the basement and Steve would look for the cards until Wade couldn't take it anymore and then they would kiss.

It was by no means sweet or tender, it was all hands and it was rough. It was, Steve thought, the only way that Wade could let Steve in like that. And after the room was hot and their hair was moused from fingers and dust, Wade would get up and pat his clothes off before loudly yawning and stating that it was time for bed.

They never talked about it, and Steve had the itching suspicion that they never would. So, instead of asking the burning question in his heart, he would follow Wade back up stairs and pretend as though it were perfectly normal to be a hidden secret. He was fine with it, because for the first time in a long time, he had something and someone that was all his and that he didn't have to feel ashamed for.

***

Bucky fingered the carved word on his table. Coward, coward, coward, it was eating him alive. He sipped on the water he was holding in the dark, his leg was jiggling and the house keys in his hands fumbled together like wind chimes. The rain was pouring down outside, but in his lofty apartment it only sounded like strong winds against the glass.

The gnawing thought that his father was dying and waiting to speak with him was getting to him. He had vowed to never return, never set foot again inside where the family was, but he knew that if he neglected his father that he would be haunted for life.

His finger traced the c, o, w, a, r , and d before he finally threw back the rest of his water and slammed the glass down on the counter. _Damn him_ , thought Bucky as he threw on the only coat by his front door. As he stood outside his apartment door, jingling the keys, he set himself up for facing his father and the rest of the family.

He rode down to the last floor of building and down to the lobby where the company car had been waiting twenty minutes for him. He was sure the driver, Happy, was not happy with him. But still, the man didn't say a word either way when he finally slid into the car, drenched and shaky.

“Hospital, please,” Bucky said.

The car started off down the street, the lights from buildings and stores reflecting in his hollow eyes. Suddenly, he felt like a ten year old boy being driven home by one of his father's men for a lesson. A lesson that always resulted in Bucky receiving a punishment for bad behavior. Like a child waiting to be scolded. His hands were shaking and his head was filled with thoughts of regret and self loathing. The fog was thick in his head, it made his eyes heavy and his brain numb.

“Sir?” said Happy.

Bucky snapped out of his stupor, turning his attention back to Happy.

“We're here.”

Bucky cleared his throat and mumbled a thank you as he stepped out of the car. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and straightened his coat. He didn't even feel the pelting rain drench his coat and undershirt. All he noticed was the bright white lights of the hospital and the thrumming in his stomach. A few seconds passed, and by that time his socks were beginning to get wet and his skin felt thoroughly coated. He stepped forward towards the hospital and buttoned his coat, trying very much to look like the man he is and less like the boy he knew he was.

He passed the receptionist desk and went up the elevator to the fourth floor where he knew his father would be. He had always stayed in the same room at the same hospital any time anything went wrong. It had a perfect view to the Brooklyn Bridge, it was symbolic his father had said. Like a King watching over his subjects. Bucky walked past the nurse's desk and ignored the woman peering at him and standing to stop him. He was distantly aware of her attempts to call after him and the familiar but quiet voice that stopped her from going after him.

The particle board grey door was the same, and as he stood there to knock on the door it was like he was just a boy again. He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door, waiting a few seconds before pushing the door open and stepping inside. His shoes made squishing noises, and as he stepped in he saw four other people in the room turn to look at him. Sam, Natasha, Clint, and his mother were all there surrounding his father's bed, but his father was obscured by a green curtain. Natasha faced away from him, staring hard out the window, Clint next to her with a sad weary expression as he looked at Bucky, Sam seated opposite from his mother with tired lines around his mouth and eyes, and finally his mother with her dyed and re-dyed red hair weeping softly as her son returned home.

“Mama,” Bucky said as he walked forward, kneeling and grabbing her hand. He kept his eyes down, feeling ashamed and like an outsider. He had never told her goodbye, and now with his mother softly crying over her lost son and dying husband he felt the full weight of his actions,”Mama.”

“My Bucky bear,” she whispered as she tilted her son's head up. Bucky met her gaze and looked into her soft watery brown eyes,”He's been waiting for you vozlyublennaya*.”

Bucky felt himself reel, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his mother. The emotion was too raw in both of them. Sam must have felt it, because he ushered Bucky's two former friends out of the room while muttering excuses to clear the room. When the door shut behind them like a coffin, Bucky felt his shoulders shake and dropped his head.

“Mama, I'm so-”

She snapped her fingers,”None of that now, young man.”

Bucky stopped his tears, looking down and listening to his mother. Her voice was hard and calm, but still loving. The tone he needed to hear.

“Speak to your father. We'll talk later. He needs to tell you something important moya luna i

zvezdy**.”

And with that, Winnifred Barnes was shuffling out of her seat to leave the room. Bucky helped her to her feet and held her hand.

“My sweet flower, always so emotional. Always the dreamer, I'm glad you could follow them,” she said as he cupped his face and drank in her son's face.

He held her hand softly until she pulled away and left the room. Bucky stood for a few moments there, just outside where the curtain to his father's bed was. He heard the drip of his clothes, and when he finally mustered his courage, he pushed the curtain aside and faced his father for the first time in over four years.

***

It was finally four in the morning when Bucky's father woke up from fitful sleep. The machines were beeping and the oxygen tube was still purring. Bucky had not slept since he arrived, his nerves still shattered and his eyes too wide.

“James,” his father rasped.

Bucky straightened, snapping to attention and looking at his father.

“Father,” he addressed in a shaky voice.

His father coughed, a deep hacking noise that made Bucky cringe to his core.

“Can I help?” he asked nervously.

George smacked his son's hand away and continued to cough,”I didn't call you here to help me. I called you here to listen.”

In a single second, Bucky's worry evaporated into guarded anger. The petulance he thought he outgrew as a teenager came back in full force as he sat there listening to his father criticize and harangue.

“Why did you call me here? I can only assume it isn't about your health.”

George laughed, turning his yellow sickly eyes on Bucky. A familiar spark returning to them, one that meant an accepted challenge.

“I'm dying, James.”

Bucky nodded.

“I'm dying, and I wanted to speak to my son one last time. Even if he is a rotten good for nothing boy.”

Bucky grit his teeth and frowned,”I'm the head financier at War Monger Construction.”

George laughed, a rusty and squeaky thing that led to more coughing. Bucky could only wait for his father's fit to be over before trying to speak again.  
“A corrupt and bullshit company, you're working as a head financier for a pile of shit company interested in only itself. But don't feel too bad, you fit right in.”

Bucky felt rage bubble in his chest,”It might be a crock of shit, but I worked my ass off to get where I am today.”

“And what for?” George snapped,”To suck someone else's cock?”

Bucky sat back in his chair and shook his head.

“Your job, it's cushy and it's comfortable. And you suck up to a man who isn't even worth enough to lick my boots. Natasha saw you pull up in that car, a car bought with blood money and by breaking the backs of millions.”

“And being a mobster is any different?” Bucky snapped.

“You watch your tone, boy,” George quipped.

Bucky shut his mouth instinctively. A few moments of silence passed before George coughed out a sentence.

“Four goddamned years and we still can't have a proper conversation.”

Bucky shook his head, regretting coming to visit.

“I wanted you to come, because I am dying and I need you to listen to me. James, you do well at your job. I know you do, I have people on the inside working where you do and I know you work hard. But I also know that you can't sit back and let someone else take the reigns. I know you're cooking something up with that Stark boy. His father was a good man.”

Bucky pursed his lips, he knew his father had been watching him but he hoped it hadn't been as close as it was.

“Tony is a good man. I never knew his father, but he seemed like he was,” Bucky admitted.

“So tell me,” George said as he grabbed his son's hand,”what's the plan.”

Bucky looked at his father and then laughed quietly,”It's nothing really. Just something we need to take care of. Don't you worry about it.”

George cracked a smile,”Spoken like a true Barnes man.”

Bucky looked up at his father, hating that he was right.

“Barnes men were born to lead. My father and his father's father were all leaders. You were born to lead, James, and that is why I left you the family business. After I die, you will inherit.”

“Dad,” Bucky said, voice growing angry,”I told you,”

“Shut the fuck up,” George coughed out,”I know what you fucking said and what you did. You abandoned the family, you started a new life, something that family never does. But I also know you've learned from it,” George said.

Bucky was silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Son,” George said softly,” you were born a leader. You're wasting your talents there at the office, when I raised you I raised you to be a winner. I didn't raise you to be a quitter. When you left the family, it hurt your mother so badly. You hurt her James. She loses one child, and then she loses the other. Family is something you can't quit, and try as hard as you might malen'kaya zvezda***, you can't. What you did was unspeakable, as my right I should've taken care of you. But I couldn't. You are my only son, my only child, and I need you now more than ever.”

Buck felt his eyes welling up. He had never let his father see him so emotion before. His father had always called crying a sissy's job. He had called men who begged for their lives and were crying, the ugly kind of crying with snot and blotchy faces, faggots. Bucky knew however, that this was the one and only time his father would let him slip and show such emotion.

“Family doesn't quit,” his father said, looking sallow and sweaty,”I can't let you quit the family. Which is why I left it all to you.”

“Dad,” Bucky said.

George put up a hand, an IV sticking out of it with yellowish liquid being pumped in. Bucky swallowed hard.

“Natashenka may not like it, but she is your sister. She will come to accept it. She will come to love you again.”

“Father,” Bucky said, his voice shaky,”I don't know if I can.”

George cracked a small smile and turned away from his son and stared at the ceiling.

“Zvezda****, you are strong. Your business with Stane will prove what you have always known.”

Bucky looked down, reflecting on his father's words. His father reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing hard. When Bucky looked into his eyes, they were filled with a passionate rage and conviction.

“Bucky, do this for me. For the family. Prove them wrong. Prove that you are my son.”

For all the tension and resentment present in their relationship, Bucky knew that his father was right. That he was his father's son, and that he was born to lead. All he had to do was take a leap of faith and embrace a future he would make.

***

Steve was having a hard time keeping Wade off of him. They had been officially going out since Steve had turned fourteen in July, but as time had passed and it was now a year later, things were different.

Wade's relationship with Nancy had turned into a full throttle _Fast Times_ relationship with ups, downs, cars, sex, and police calls. They were going steady and any time Steve saw them in school, they were joined at the hip. The gross kind where they kept each other's hands in one another's back pocket and swapped gum. It truly made Steve sick and enraged.

Wade had quickly turned into a bad boy at the school, parading around in a black leather jacket and ripped jeans. He was constantly getting caught smoking in the bathroom and flipping off teachers in class. Steve had once called him a real John Bender, to which Wade had punched him square in the mouth.

While Wade's fake relationship with Nancy was improving, his relationship with Steve was getting more and more tense.

“Would you stop looking at him already, it's freaking me out,” Peter said to him one day during lunch.

Steve snapped his attention back from Wade and to Peter who was sitting in front of him. Steve ducked his head and poked at his school lunch.

“Right, right. Sorry, what were you saying?” Steve asked as he looked back up.

“I swear Steve, all you do is stare at him. It's like you're in love with him or something.”

“I am not in love with Wade Wilson,” Steve hissed.

Peter smirked,”Don't go screaming it to the entire world.”

Steve rolled his eyes and went back to poking his lunch.

“What's even so great about Nancy?” Steve spat.

“Here we go.”

“No no, hear me out. She's not even that great. She's flunking art, Pete. Art!”

Peter hummed and half listened to Steve's rant. One he made almost daily.

“I mean sure she has an okay body and a nice face, but what's there? She's a total ditz! A total ditz! She might be a cheerleader and she might have the looks, but other than that come on. What does Wade even see in her? Before they started dating, we used to hang out like crazy. But now it's Nancy this Nancy that. I mean Jesus.”

“Look,” Peter said,” you have to get over it. Sometimes friends just grow apart. Sometimes they get totally hot babes, and then there's us. I mean Steve, Wade is on a whole other planet than we are. For Christ's sake you're the treasurer of the art club and I am the vice president of the physics club and mathletes. The mathletes, Steve! Guys like us are just more grounded, and generally smarter. We just aren't friends with idiots like Wade Wilson.”

“What's that now?” Wade said as he walked over to the table.

Peter visibly swallowed.

“Um, nothing. Nothing at all Mr. Wildon. We were just discussing how-how caring and...gentle you are? Right Steve?”

Steve repressed a laugh and nodded along. Wade only hummed in response.

“Rogers.” Wade said to Steve, ignoring Peter all together,”Can I see you outside. Now.”

Steve jumped to his feet, collecting his books and casting a helpless glance back at Peter who frowned.

“Sorry, I gotta-I'll be-” he started.

“Now, Rogers!” Wade yelled as he dragged Steve by the cuff.

Wade dragged Steve out of the cafeteria, storming off towards the abandoned part of the school during lunch. It was the storage room that Wade had slipped the janitor twenty dollars a month not to use and not to check. It had worked out well for him so far. It was a place where Wade stayed during class, skipping as usual, and sometimes brought Steve when he didn't have to bring Nancy. It was one of the favorite places Wade took him.

Since they had grown up some and Steve was now a freshman and Wade was a junior, their relationship had evolved into being less G rated to more NC-17. Steve however, was not sure if he was ready to go all the way at only fifteen.

Wade pulled out his key and unlocked the door, looking down the halls to check and make sure that no one was in sight. When the coast was clear, he opened the door and shoved Steve inside. There was a small pallet on the floor and a few chairs set up. There was a trashcan and shelves filled with knick knacks Wade had collected over the years. Nestled in the corner was a bag filled with condoms and lube, something Wade had showed Steve in an inebriated state. A moment where he had told Steve that he wanted to know what he felt like.

Wade locked the door from the inside and then turned to face Steve like a lion would its prey.

“Did you tell him?”

“Tell who what?”

Wade rolled his eyes,”Parker. Did you tell Parker about us.”

“Oh, no. I didn't.”

Wade grinned, a toothy kind of grin. One that sent shivers down Steve's spine. Wade walked toward him, bringing his hands up to cup Steve's face before kissing him softly. Their kissing had gotten better from the rough make out sessions in the basement of the boys' home. Wade had become softer, gentler. He took the time to make sure Steve was comfortable and sure.

Steve accepted his kiss, and the hands that started to roam across his shoulders. Steve dropped his bag and accepted Wade's touch, leaning into the soft warmth of his body.

“I miss you,” Wade whispered as he started to duck into Steve's neck and suck.

“Wade, don't leave anything,” Steve forced out.

Wade only let out a breath and bit a little bit harder on Steve's neck,”Don't worry. I'll take care of it.”

Later that afternoon, Steve left with a bruised neck and red lips. When Peter asked why he was covered in hickeys, Steve lied and said he met up with an on call girl. Peter didn't believe him, but the other boys in class did and that was what mattered.

Later in class, Steve caught Wade's eye and blushed at the wink that Wade gave him.

Yes their relationship was complicated and it was secret, but Steve was satisfied.

***

As Christmas was nearing, Steve was gearing up for the impossible. He knew that Wade was finally going to ask him to have sex. He had been trying and trying to get Steve to give in since September, but each time Steve would deflect and find something else to talk about. But, he would never miss their midnight rendezvous. They had slowly been working their way up to making out naked, something that Wade loved and Steve had started to love as well.

Earlier in the month however, they had had a scare when they were in the basement and the three newbies at the home attempted to go down and play pokemon after lights out. Wade had just gotten his pants unbuckled and around his hips while Steve was in the nude and in the mood, when the kids started to rattle at the door.

He had gone out with his belt in hand, pants unzipped, and shirtless and scared the kids shitless. They hadn't ventured out past lights out or bothered Wade again. They were in the clear, but when Wade returned he told Steve to get dressed and they went back upstairs to go to bed after about an hour after the kids had left.

Since then, Wade had been hesitant and distant from Steve. He spent more times over at Nancy's and avoiding Steve at school. But, Steve was determined to make it up to Wade by giving him what he wanted. He was still unsure about going through with it and having sex with Wade, but he wanted to make his boyfriend smile at him again so he made up his mind to go through with it for Wade.

He had passed Wade a note during study hall: midnight, usual place. Wade had crumpled the note immediately and shoved it deep in his pocket. He didn't look at Steve, but Steve was sure that he would come. He was sure that he would, because if he didn't Steve didn't know what he would do.

Would the relationship be over? Would they no longer be friends? Would he finally get serious with Nancy? Was he only toying with him? Steve refused to answer any of the questions in the event that Wade did turn him down.

He was sitting at the long table in the dining hall, tucked off at the end of the table thinking to himself. The boys were rowdy and throwing food when Erik wasn't looking, excited that Christmas break was about to start. Steve on the other hand, was silent and nervous. His heart was beating out of his chest and he was too nervous to eat. Only four more hours until midnight.

He shoved the bowl of lukewarm broth away and went up stairs, mumbling an apology to Erik as he passed. He hadn't seem Wade all day and he was unsure of what was going to happen. When he went upstairs to the communal bedrooms, he walked over to his bunk but stopped in his tracks as Wade sat there on his bed.

Wade looked up, eyes red rimmed and face grey.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Steve answered, throat dry.

Wade sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

“Come here,” he beckoned.

Steve slowly walked over and sat next to him, careful not to touch. Wade was silent for a while, a heavy atmosphere surrounding them. A few minutes ticked by and neither of them said anything.

“Here,” Wade said eventually while rummaging around in his jacket pocket,”I wanted to give this to you.”

He handed Steve a small box red box with a matching envelope. Steve looked at it, eyes wide. His heart rate slowed down to a comfortable pace, he felt as though everything would be okay.

“Open it later,” Wade said before he tood up.

“Wade, I didn't get you anything yet.”

“Don't worry about it,” Wade said as he straightened his jacket and picked up his backpack.

“Where are you going?”

Wade shrugged his backpack on and bent down, quickly pecking Steve's lips and then pulling back.

“Just have to run a few errands.”

Steve nodded and watched as Wade left the room.

“Wade!” Steve yelled.

Wade stopped and turned back slightly to face Steve.

“Don't forget, midnight.”

Wade nodded and grit his teeth, he turned and left the room and Steve was left waiting for midnight strike.

***

Peter's house was out of the way from the boys' home. It was at least five blocks away and tucked on the wrong side of the city. Honestly Steve wasn't sure how Peter got away with attending the school they both went to. He was so far out of zoning – but that didn't really matter at the moment.

Steve had been running for the past few minutes now, tears streaming down his face and drying against his skin before they reached his chin. It was two in the morning, but still there were people and cars rushing about on the street.

The lights and street names blurred together as he ran, he had left his jacket at home. A chilling wind ripped right through him, right through his heart – like Wade – but he wasn't going to think about that.

By the time he reached Peter's small apartment, he was wheezing and on the verge of an asthma attack. He stopped to catch his breath outside where Peter's window was before scaling the scaffolding up to Peter's bedroom window. He knocked on the window repeatedly until Peter came. The curtains were pushed aside and a groggy Peter was standing there in the dark. He rubbed at his eyes before looking at Steve and making a face.

Peter opened the window, stumbling back when the cold hit him.

“Jesus H. Steve. What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”

Steve fell in through the window, still catching his breath. He collapsed onto Peter's floor into a softly sobbing mess. Peter's sleepiness quickly vanished as he knelt down beside his friend. He placed a hand on Steve's shoulder awkwardly.

“Steve? What's wrong?” Peter whispered.

Steve only continued to sob, clutching at his heart. In his left hand he held the red letter, a crumpled and tear stained mess. Outside it was beginning to snow.

Peter grabbed the letter from Steve's fingers and read:

_Steve,_

_I'm sorry that I couldn't be there tonight. I couldn't face you in such a raw way. I know that that makes me a coward, but I'm not like you. I don't face fights head on when I don't have to. That makes me a coward, and I'm sorry._

_You deserve better than me. Better than what I could give you. I didn't love you the way you needed me to. But, I did love you. I loved the way you drew Sarah, our late night poker games, the sunsets we shared, the times we spent in the broom closet, and the intimacy. You were my first kiss and the person I wish I could give everything to. But, I can't do that. I'm not man enough to accept that I love you, and I can't express it to the world._

_By the time you read this I will have left Brooklyn and New York all together. Don't come looking for me. I don't want you to. I don't need you to. I love you, but I don't need you. I don't need anyone._

_Yours only,_

_Wade_

Peter reread the letter, trying to make sense of what was being said. He had always suspected that Steve was in love with Wade, but he didn't expect that it would be mutual. He dropped the letter and turned back to Steve who was laying on his bedroom floor crying softly.

Peter pulled Steve into his lap and rubbed his shoulder.

“It's going to be okay,” he lied,”it's going to be okay.”

“He just left, Pete. He left and he isn't going to come back.”

Peter licked his lips and just continued to rub Steve's shoulder.

“I was going to let him. I was going to let him have everything,” Steve whispered.

Peter looked down at him.

“But he doesn't want me. He said he didn't need me. No one needs me. No one does. They all just wound up leaving.”

Peter frowned and pulled Steve up to meet his eyes,”Steve, I need you. I need you Steve.”

Steve started crying again,”You don't. You're just saying that.”

“I do. I do, Steve. I need you.”

Steve only closed his eyes and started to cry harder. Peter licked his lips and pulled Steve's face to meet his before kissing him softly. Steve responded in turn before the both of them were on the floor in a tangle of limbs and discarded clothes.

***

It had been a year since his father's death and since Obadiah Stane's incarceration for embezzlement. Bucky, Tony, and Bruce had been sitting pretty when the FBI arrived to take down the company. They had been charged with embezzlement, but thanks to Bucky's father the trial went smoothly and the three men got off Scott-free.

Bruce had been pissed off when the FBI raided his apartment, they had charged him with invasion of privacy and illegal hacking. When the FBI came in they confiscated his laptops and hard drives from multiple computers. Bruce had said that if the agents hadn't returned his property, then he would have been looking at a life time sentence in prison. It was also around that time that Tony and Bruce met Pepper Pots. The leading agent in charge of their case. She was a confident, strong, and moral woman.

She hadn't been impressed with their awkward fumbling and the fact that they were criminals. She had been even more unimpressed when the three of them got off on all charges in court. When she pursued the matter, her boss had told her to drop it for her own safety. She hadn't listened, and eventually got tangled up in Tony and Bruce's lives.

It had started with a small date, one that Tony blathered away during and Bruce fiddled with a small device he had been putting together all month. She had originally contacted them for dinner in order to catch them in a lie or slip up on some information, namely information about Bucky and the organization he was apart of. However, the awkward and pompous charm of both men won her over to drop the case and start a loving relationship.

Bucky on the other hand, had not had such luck in relationships. After Obadiah and the collapse of War Monger Construction, Bucky was left with a choice. One: to rejoin the family and beg forgiveness or two: start a new life laying low. The second option was an impossible feat for him to pull off without the help of his family, especially after hundreds of thousands of employees were magically gifted thousands of dollars in their retirement packages. All eyes were on Bucky to see where he would go next.

 _Time Magazine_ had called him the real life vigilante the world needed, _Forbes_ listed him as a cynical Robin Hood, and finally _People Magazine_ did a full feature cover story on what little information there was on his life. Bucky's private affairs and anonymity were suddenly gone, and now he had to live up to the expectation he had set for himself.

If the expectation from the world to do good wasn't enough, there was the family's expectations. During the trial and the moment that Bucky had stepped back into the family's lives for a brief moment, the people had begun to look at Bucky in a new light. With George's health failing, a lot of the members began to think that Bucky was the rightful ruler by blood, but others were unconvinced. As George helped Bucky with the trial and working with FBI agents to make sure that his friends were cleared of all charges, Bucky began to see what it took to be a mob boss.

He had always figured that the don was a murderous man, cold and calculated. Always planning and scheming to see what could benefit him. In his adolescent years he had seen what he wanted to. In his childhood his father was King, and in his teenage years his father was the tyrant. Now that Bucky was an adult, and had some time to formulate an idea of how the world worked, he had a different opinion.

His father was in fact, a father. He may have his rough edges and dirty deeds, but Bucky new his heart was pure. Since having to work with his father so closely, they formed a tentative relationship akin to a friendship. Bucky would often come up to the hospital, visiting his father and playing cards with his old man while they talked shop. People came and went from the room, and Bucky saw that in a way what his father did was far more honest than what Bucky had been doing.

The crime was by far something Bucky would forever look down upon, he thought, but the relationship between the people was something he admired. His father was straight with people inside and outside of the family. He catered to his loved ones and the loved ones of the ones he held dear, and dealt with the threats at hand.

He watched as his father wined and dined important figures of the city and people tucked inside of his pocket all from his hospital bed. In short, Bucky had begun his training he had neglected and escaped at the age of eighteen. He was by no means disillusioned or romanced by the life style he had grown up leading, but instead saw the ins and outs of what life was like. Life in and out of the family was like night and day. However, it was up to Bucky to pick which one he would embrace.

Upon his father's death and later his mother's, the will was read and Bucky was bequeathed the family business and all of its territories. To accept meant to give up freedom, to reject meant to give up life.

A years worth of preparations and decision making under the watchful eye of Natasha, Bucky had finally made his decision.

“All of the families will be there,” she said as she helped him straighten his tie.

Bucky batted her hand away and looked himself once over in the mirror, assessing to see if he looked the part. The suit he swore he would never put back on covered his body. A dark Armani suit signifying strength, and a small eagle lapel pin centered over his heart represented this.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Bucky straightened his suit and ran a hand along the side of his hair to tuck any fly aways back into place. He nodded and walked towards the double doors of his bedroom, large oak doors that used to be his father's.

“Are you sure? There's no backing out after this,” she deadpanned.

“Natasha,” he said,”I'm ready. I left once, I won't do it again.”

Natasha looked at him, face unreadable, and then opened the doors. She walked swiftly down the hallway, ponytail swaying with each step. Bucky blew out a breath and walked out after her to the end of the hall. He stopped for a moment, waiting for the announcement to be made. He had always thought as a child that the ceremony of accepting a new don and announcing their title was ridiculous and silly, but now he knew the weight of it. It was like the family was announcing that a new King was born and here to take over the world. Today, was Bucky's turn to experience this coronation.

“Zdes', v etot chas, pochitayetsya i posvyashchayetsya Bogom nash novy lider Dzheyms Barns*****,” announced Natasha,”Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the first of his name and the fourth heir, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky walked down the hall and to the top of the staircase. He peered over and there, on the floor of his grand hall were all the prominent members of families across the state wide area and the members of his own family as well. There, awaited him, his future.

***

The morning after Wade had left, and Steve had ran to Peter's apartment, awkwardness hung over the pair of them like a thick fog. Steve had lain awake almost the entire night staring at the wall and wondering what the hell he had just done. Peter was likewise just as shocked and uncomfortable.

Their clothes were littered around the floor in a hasty circle around the bed. The two of them were tucked under the covers, not speaking or moving as the light trickled in through the window. Steve figured he ought to get up and sneak back into the boys' home, but the threat of a confrontation with Peter kept him frozen.

After a few moments, Peter shifted to face Steve.

“Steve?” he asked softly.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“About last night...”

“I don't know what we were thinking,” Steve deadpanned, solemn.

“I don't either. You looked so sad, and I wanted to help, and oh God, Steve I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for everything to go that far.”  
Steve sat up to face Peter, looking into his friend's face with open honesty. Peter's eyes looked wide and afraid, his body language was open. Steve could tell that his friend had not meant for things to go that far or to take advantage of him.

“I know. We shouldn't have done that. But, I guess that's how things go.”

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair,”I guess so.”

Steve laughed slightly, and Peter smiled softly in return.

“God, what were we thinking? I mean, I only see you as a friend, Pete.”

“Oh thank God, me too,” Peter sighed.

Steve smiled back and shoved him playfully,”What? Am I not good looking enough for you?”

Peter grinned and shrugged, making a playfully pinched face,”I mean...”

“You ass,” Steve laughed and smacked him with the pillow he was resting his head on all night.

Peter's eyes went wide with a glimmer and he lunged at Steve to attack. After a while, of rough housing, they pulled apart breathless and laughing.

“I should get going,” Steve said as he stood up and pulled his pants on over his boxers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Steve said as he pulled his shirt on and moved to the window.

“Will you be okay?”

Steve opened the window and shivered, the ground outside was coated in snow and ice.

“Maybe not without a jacket,” he joked.

Peter laughed and threw Steve a jacket from his closet. Steve caught it and shrugged it on before grinning and saluting at Peter. He jumped down onto the terrace and started making his way down. Peter ran to the window, peering down and shouting at Steve,”Be careful you idiot!”

Steve turned around and stuck his tongue out at Peter before turning and walking down the street. He quickly folded into the morning commuter crowd and disappeared down the street.

***

“Strange wants to know why your encroaching on his territory,” Natasha said a few months after Bucky's coronation.

Bucky scoffed and continued to flip through his newspaper,”What territory?”

Natasha crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg,”He's claiming you took Tribeca and the lower east side areas from him. He said that his father had been slowly building up a presence in the area since before, and I quote 'since before you pulled your head out of your ass'. He said that it's his right since he inherited the task.”

“That's bull shit and he knows it,” Bucky said without looking up,”Tribeca and the lower east side territories are in Manhattan. Manhattan is on the other side of the Brooklyn bridge. Everything left of the bridge has been ours since my before my father took over. Ergo, Tribeca and the lower east sides belong to us. If he doesn't like it, he can suck my cock.”

Natasha repressed a smile, an impressive feat given her cold exterior and control over her emotions. She was impressed, if only slightly, with how Bucky was taking control and living up to his potential.

“Should I tell him that word for word?”

Bucky looked up, giving her a menacing smile,”Why don't we let him.”

Bucky folded the newspaper and stood up from his metal folding chair and dusted his clothes off. He looked around the warehouse around him and then finally over to his right where four of his men were standing. They were all centered around a hole in the ground where muffled screaming was coming from. Bucky sauntered over slowly, not even looking at the ground but more at the men.

“Joey, how have you been?” Bucky said, loftily.

Joey, a lackey Bucky had seen around for the few months he had been back, looked up from the hole and to Bucky, not even phased at the small talk Bucky was making with him.

“Very good sir, I've been well.”

“And your daughters? How are they?”

Joey's eyes darted to the side,”Mary Sue is doing well, she just got the lead part in _Annie_ at her school, but Lacey came down with a fever a few nights ago and it hasn't broken. We're worried it might be something more than a cold.”

Bucky nodded,”I have a friend who's a doctor, let me send him over tonight.”

“No, no, sir you don't have to do that.”

“Please,” Bucky said, placing a hand on his shoulder,”it would be my pleasure.”

Joey smiled and nodded,”Thank you boss.”

Bucky smiled back, and then finally turned his attention to the hole on the floor. Natasha's eyes gleamed, Bucky's interpersonal skills had improved and more and more members of the family were beginning to accept Bucky's presence. This was the trial run for Natasha, a real moment where Bucky's power would need to be flexed and she would see if he was the right stuff or if he was still the child she knew he was.

“Clint, has he said anything?”

Clint came to stand beside Bucky and peered down at the man at the bottom of the hole.

“Nothing yet.”

Bucky hummed,”Let's add an incentive.”

Bucky walked away from the hole, and when he returned he had a large metal cage with a towel placed over it. He looked at the cage and then at the man in the hole who was half submerged in dirty sewer water. The man looked up at Bucky, a gag in his mouth but a defiant look in his eye. He had spent three days in the hole, by now Bucky was sure that he was beginning to smell and starve. His skin no doubt, was beginning to rot slightly due to the lack of natural oils and contaminated water. He was sure, by the red tinge in the water that somewhere a wound was leaking and festering.

Bucky looked at the cage again and shook it slightly, feeling the organic matter inside shake and rattle. The cage erupted into squeaking and a flurry of anger. The rats inside hadn't been fed in a number of days, he was sure that they would like a little treat. Bucky smirked and looked down at the man.

“Listen, all I want is to know what Strange is planning. Tribeca and the lower east side are mine, it's been that way since before his father crawled out of that shit hole he calls Jersey. Now tell me, Scott, what is it that your boss thinks he's doing in my territory?”

Scott yelled something muffled up to Bucky, and Bucky only cocked his head to the side.

“What did he say?” he asked Clint.

“Nothing nice, I can assume,” Clint said.

Bucky grunted and stood up. He tore the towel off of the rat cage and looked as the rats ran around in fear and anger.

“Well, maybe he'll change his mind while our little friends keep him company.”

Bucky turned the cage on it's side and opened the door, releasing the rats into the fifteen feet deep hole. The rats tumbled down through the hole and landed with a splash in the water. They started to rise back up to the surface and swam towards Scott, who was now thrashing in his binds to try and get away from them.

“Those rats haven't been fed in days. They'll eat anything by now. Especially a decomposing body.”

Scott attempted to get away from the rats, but as they started climbing on his skin they began to tear at his flesh. Some of the rats found the wound on the side of his stomach and began to dig their way inside. The screaming from the hole was unbearable, but Bucky didn't bat an eye. He watched as the rats started to burrow inside the man and eat him alive from the inside.

A total of ten minutes went by before Scott stopped moving and slumped forward. The rats began to swim and chirp around, leaping on his body like red greasy eels. When Bucky was sure that Scott was dead, he stood up from his crouched position and wiped his hands off.

“Tough bastard, wasn't he?” Bucky asked no one in particular.

Clint nodded in response.

“Bring him back up here, and cut his balls off. Put them on ice and send them to Strange. Tell him to man up and face me head on,” Bucky said as he started to walk towards the doors.

Natasha watched him as he left and stood there, pride growing in her chest. Once the door closed, Natasha whipped her head back to the four men standing around the hole.

“You heard him, get that piece of shit out of there and do your jobs. Joey, make sure the rats are dead before you bring him up. I don't care if you have to shoot them until your clip runs out, we're not bringing rabid rats back up here. Maliki you help Clyde hoist Scott up. Clint, you get the fun part. Cut his balls off and give them to Strange. I heard he's having dinner at The Door tonight. Why don't you drop by and make sure he gets the special.”

The men stood there for a moment before Clint barked at them,”You heard the boss, do what she says.”

Natasha nodded at him and together the four men carried out Natasha's orders. Later that night, Clint slipped into the kitchen at The Door where Strange was having dinner and prepared a special meal for him.

When Clint's meal was finished, he carried it out of the kitchen and on to the restaurant floor where Strange was sitting. Clint served the silver dome covered dish on the table and walked away just in time to hear Strange curse and his date scream. Clint smirked and left the restaurant as Strange gaped at Scott's balls served on a clean white plate with a note stuck in the side like a toothpick in hamburgers:

_Man up._

_-J.B. Barnes_

***

Strange was proving to be more of a problem than Bucky had anticipated. He was stubborned and cocky, and much to Bucky's disappointment he had not outgrown his behavior from when they were kids. Instead, he had stagnated and flaunted his arrogance to the point that it would be his downfall. Bucky knew this and planned to expose his weakness.

On Friday nights in early March and all throughout the summer, Strange took to visiting his Jersey home where he had spent most of his childhood growing up. The town was sleepy and the people were quiet, it was a good retreat and a place to live if only it wasn't Jersey.

When Strange would leave the city, he left his right hand man in charge. A stout and portly man in his late forties: Wong. Wong was a talented and skilled man, he was more of a henchman however rather than a leader. He was proficient in marshal arts, but lacking when it came to leadership skills. But, Strange was not worried about his steward's incompetence and therefore continued to leave Wong in charge any time he left on vacation or business trips.

As it was now the end of March, and easter weekend was coming up, Strange would be traveling down to Jersey to see his extended family and bring his newly wed wife, Christine, along. During Easter weekend, as well as any weekend Strange was in town, parties were thrown just off the coast. At these parties, Strange flaunted his sharp shooter skills like a cheesy spaghetti western cowboy would. He was oh so proud of his steady hands and his sharp wit, a skill he loved to flaunt and threaten Bucky with any off chance he got.

The _myachi******_ incident at The Door left Strange hot and bothered. Little skirmishes at the edge of the bridge in the Manhattan area were occurring, where, more times than not, Strange's men were dying. He was beyond outraged at the lack of respect that Bucky was showing him, but also underestimated Bucky's experience and wit. Therefore, in April Strange left the New York area and traveled to Jersey with his family, expecting Barnes to wait for his return.

However, Bucky was a clever and quick man. He knew an opportunity when he saw one, and took it. The plan was simple; Strange would go to Jersey for Easter weekend, Sam would take care of Wong, Clint and Bucky would go to Jersey to speak with Strange about their little issue, and Natasha would watch over the family and its proceedings in the mean time.

All was going according to plan, all Bucky had to do was step up and make it happen. So, on the Friday before Easter, Bucky hopped on a jet and headed down to Jersey.

It was a modest home, one with yellow slats, scalloped roofing, and a white picket fence. Really, Bucky thought, that Strange should stay here. Away from the action and away from the fight. This visit would prove that. When Bucky pulled up to the drive, he saw the appeal of the house and the life, and hated to interrupt what was no doubt a tender weekend away with family. But, if he didn't strike, then Strange would.

“Are you in position?” Bucky asked as he stepped out of the sleek black car they rented from the airport company.

“Roger that,” Clint said over the mic.

Bucky walked slowly up to the fence, taking in the birds and the butterflies in the front yard. He looked to his left and right, making sure that the men Strange had stationed with him were in fact taken care of by some of his other lackeys. When he thought the coast was clear, he pushed the fence aside and walked up the cobblestone path and to the front door.

The door was a quaint glass door with a soft frosting over it. He rapped twice and smoothed his hair out. When the door opened, Strange stood there talking to his wife, elated.

“Oh, mother-” he started to say as he turned to face Bucky.

Bucky grinned and pushed the door open, stepping inside and forcing the couple back inside.

“Steven, so surprising to see you here,” he said as he looked around.

The inside was just as charming as the outside was.

“Barnes,” Strange growled.

“Steven? Who's this?” Christine asked.

Bucky looked at her with his soft face and came over to grab her hand,”Mazel tov on your betrothal. I'm an old work associate of Steven's. We go way back, isn't that right, Steve?”

Strange looked from Christine and Bucky's hands to Bucky's eyes.

“Christine, honey, why don't you get us some lemonade?” he said.

“Lemonade?” she asked as he looked from her husband to Bucky and then back again,”We don't have any, I didn't make any yet.”

“Then go make some,” he said calmly.

“Steven, I don't understand, what's happening?”

“Christine!” he shouted before lowering his voice again and causing her to flinch,”Please, just get us some goddamned lemonade.”

Christine let go of Bucky's hand and quickly escaped the room before any other words were spoken. Strange tried to catch her hand to reassure her, but Christine pulled her hand back and to her mouth as though she was going to cry. Bucky felt bad for making the poor girl cry, but he didn't dare let Strange know what he was thinking. Instead, Bucky gave a smile to Strange that didn't reach his eyes and turned to look around the room.

The walls were a bright sunflower yellow with paisley wallpaper surrounding some of the white columns going up to the crown molded ceiling. The windows were large and open without screens obscuring the view to the outside yard. The walls were adorned with vintage photographs of Strange's family and people Bucky assumed must have been Christine's family. There were doctorate degrees and graduation certificates all over the walls and all along the fire place mantle. The fire place was a quaint adorable red brick hearth with soot around the entrance and freshly chopped wood inside of it. Some of the bricks were shaky at the foundation, but that only added to the charm of the whole room.

In the center of the room there were two arm chairs shaped like Victorian arm chairs with matching paisley fabric and a wooden and glass coffee table, all atop a floral rug on the Brazilian cherry hardwood floors. Bucky admired the taste of the woman who had decorated this room, no doubt Strange's grandmother who passed away only recently and officially allowed Strange to take her place as the Irish mob's leader.

Bucky walked over to the large oval shaped mirror hanging on the wall with a small bedside table with doilies and family photos adorned on its surface. He looked down at the family photos and spoke to Strange as he evaluated the man's life.

“Cute girl. How'd you manage to snag her, Strange?” he asked nonchalantly.

In the mirror, Bucky saw Strange's lip twitch and his hand itch towards the fire place.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

Strange looked at Bucky through the mirror and lunged for the fire place, reaching out in a bold and outlandish movement. Bucky whipped quickly, drawing his pistol from his inside breast pocket and firing it once at Strange.

There was a muted pew, and then an agonizing scream. From the kitchen, Bucky heard a muffled sob and crashing glass. Strange clutched his hand, watching as blood spewed from the stump where his pointer finger used to be. He glared at Bucky, face going pale and sweat developing on his upper lip.

“You son of a bitch!”

“I told you not to do it,” Bucky said as he tucked the gun back in his pocket and went to sit in the arm chair facing Strange.

He crossed one leg over another and laced is fingers together.

“So, let's talk business.”

“Fuck you,” Strange spat.

Bucky tsked and leaned forward,”Now is that any way to start negotiations?”

Strange only glared back, and Bucky smiled ferally,”Well, not negotiations. More like an understanding.”

“What do you want,” Strange spat.

“I want you to stop attacking my territories and my people,” Bucky said as he plucked at a thread on the chair.

“ _Your_ territories?”

Bucky hummed in response.

“You arrogant prick. You leave and think that since what, your daddy died, that you deserve to have everything like some spoiled fucking child? Those are _my_ territories.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and leaned forward,”That so?”

“It is, you bastard.”

Bucky smirked,”Then call me spoiled. Those are my territories. Since before you were shitting in your diapers in what, bum fuck New Jersey, my father and his father's father were running shop from the East side of Brooklyn. They've been in my family for generations, and if you think I'm going to give it up to some gun slinger from Jersey, you're dead wrong.”

Strange let go of his hand and lunged for Bucky, grabbing his crisp white collar with both hands. Blood started to seep into Bucky's crisp collar, and Bucky frowned.

“Watch it, you'll stain my clothes.”

Strange laughed like a maniac, his eyes wide and hair disheveled,”You think that you can come in here, to my home, to my town, and order me around? Why, because your _daddy_ -”

Bucky head-butt Strange, watching the man go cross eyed and fall off of him and back on to the floor.

“Someone should've taught you to respect the dead, _tyuremnaya suka*******_.”

Strange reeled on the floor for a little bit, staining the carpet with his own blood. He opened his mouth to snipe back, but Christine's foot steps alerted them that they were not alone. She walked slowly into the room, metal tea tray and glass cups rattling as her hands shook. She was crying and her mascara was staining her flushed cheeks. She came behind Bucky and sat the tray on the glass coffee table, throwing a quick glance at her husband. Her eyes went wide as she saw the blood on the carpet.

“Steven, should I-”

“He's quite alright, I can assure you of that, Christine,” Bucky interject as he picked up a glass of lemonade.

Christine looked to Strange who only gave her a nod. She slowly walked back to the kitchen, and as she crossed the threshold from the living room to the kitchen Bucky caught her attention.

“Oh, Christine, darling. Don't bother calling the police. If you try, my friend will paint the walls with your brains.”

Christine sobbed outwardly and ran down the hall, slamming the bedroom door and locking herself inside.

“You bastard, leave her out of this,” Strange spat.

“See, you made this personal when you decided to attack my family. If you don't want anything bad to happen to your wife, I'd listen to what I have to say and keep your fucking mouth shut, understand?”

Strange only looked back at him, fire in his eyes.

In the end it took two pointer fingers and the threat of physically maiming his wife (something Bucky never would have done, but knew would push Strange to listening and giving in) for Strange to agree to an alliance and truce. It ended with Bucky successfully ending a month long feud between the two mobs, and the consolidation of the Queens and Brooklyn territories under the watchful guise of James Barnes.

***

Steve liked to go to church. It calmed him, it was the only place after his mother, his father, and now Wade, that he felt secure. The church had always been close to his heart, somewhere he would go to clear his mind and confess his sins. It was the only place he felt absolved for his sins.

On Sundays, when Wade was occupying his life and the notion that he might be gay creeped into his mind, he had avoided the church like the plague. When he was finally ready to return, the building had changed into something different and something more commercial than what he was used to. Yet, he still went and still confessed.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” he said as he stepped into the confessional and sat down on the small wooden bench inside,”It has been over a year since my last confession. Father, I feel as though I have neglected my relationship with God in turn for...for matters of the flesh. I fell in love with someone...someone I believed I could trust, but they left and I just feel as though I have damned myself. I-I don't understand what is wrong with me, what I did to deserve their rejection and their wrath. Was I not humble enough? Did I not love them enough? Was it my fault for being too promiscuous? They kept pressuring me, kept asking me to have sex and I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to give myself to someone I could not marry. But, I did, and it wasn't to them. It was to a friend of mine instead. I was like some cheap rebound, a harlot. Father, what do I do? What can I do to cleanse my soul and make myself better?”

The father behind the partition sighed,”Your soul is heavy with sin my child.”

Steve held back tears, but a choked sob escaped his lips,”Please, father. Is there anything I can do to absolve myself?”

“You must make amends with those around you. Apologize to your friend for your bad judgement and to the lover you embraced so early. There is nothing wrong with being chaste, while your soul is still stained from this sin, you can still redeem yourself at least some. You may never go to heaven for your sins of adultery and pre marital sex. You have to live up to your actions and apologize for them. Give your service to God. Be selfless. Through this way you can save your soul.”

Steve sobbed slightly in the confessional as the father left and slid the door shut. He cried for a little while longer, wiping his face down with the sleeve of his shirt. He pulled himself together and exited the confessional.

He walked down the aisle to the rows of pews and sat down to stare at the ostentatious stained glass and crucifixion at the end of the alter. As he sat there prayed. He prayed and he begged for forgiveness from God for his sins and neglect of his spirit.

When he felt as though he could not expend himself any longer, he got to his feet and walked to the cadenza where vigil candles were lit upon rows and rows of wooden shelves. He flinched, feeling pain throb in his gut as he saw the many candles lit there. He felt his heart leap in his throat and before he knew it, he was running outside and gasping on the front church steps. He heard the roar of the city and his blood flowing throughout his ears.

His heart was beating faster and faster and he was starting to hyperventilate. Flashes of his mother and the fire went through his mind, and swirled around in his head. He felt sick to his stomach, and before he knew it he was puking off of the side of the steps and into the very small flower garden.

His sins were too heavy to bare, and he knew that he was eternally damned. His only choice was to give himself to God and not ask for more than he deserved, just as the priest had said.

***

Natasha was proud of Bucky. She liked to think that now that she was twenty-three, that her petulance and stubbornness had faded away. After all, she was an adult now and so was Bucky.

Sometimes she caught herself slipping into her past actions and behaviors, especially when Bucky would resort back to some of his childish behaviors. She thought that maybe he would outgrow the brooding silent persona he put on even when they were home together.

However, since today was Bucky's birthday she let most off his behavior slide. She had let his brooding and angry stomping around their house, and now at the party slide, but it was starting to piss her off. He had been depressed and angry all morning, but she hadn't been able to figure it out. She had chalked it up in the beginning to Bucky being depressed that he was reaching his mid twenties and was on his way to his thirties in a few short years. However, as the day started to go on and turn to night she figured that it must be something else.

Currently, she was watching him from across the street where his birthday party was being held. They had managed to block off a block or two in Chinatown, and so far it was kicking off to be an affair that would be talked about for a long while.

The lanterns were lit up and down the streets, performers and dancers were parading across the streets, and venders were selling foods and fireworks to the members that were invited. Just outside the opening of the Gold Dragon was a dinner table with Bucky sitting at the center, picking at his nails and scowling at the people walking by or attempting to approach him. To his right was an empty chair where Natasha had been sitting, and on his left was Clint who looked very much like a kicked puppy. Occasionally, the tall blond Nordic man who Bucky had scouted out would whisper something in his ear and the crease between Bucky's eyebrows would deepen.

Natasha found herself pursing her lips more than she would have liked at the lack of communication between her and Bucky. She didn't like being left out of the loop. She had been his right hand man since four years ago when Bucky regained control of the Russian mob, but now was the first time she wasn't being told anything.

“If you keep glaring at him like that, I think his head will explode,” Sam said as he sidled up to her.

Natasha crossed her arms and clucked her tongue.

“Still mad at him?”

Natasha shook her head, acting very much like a child.

“What's got your panties in a twist then,” Sam said as he shoveled a fork full of fried rice into his mouth.

“Wilson, you know I hate it when you talk to me like that.”

Sam put his hand up that wasn't holding the boat of rice and chicken in an apologetic manner.

“My bad,” he said through the rice.

Natasha just pursed her lips and turned away, looking back at Bucky who was now looking at her.

“I know that he left, but that was a long time ago,” Sam started to say,”but he's changed. He's not the kid we used to know.”

Natasha hummed.

“He's more like a leader. More like his father.”

“He's better than that,” she said without turning to look at him.

Sam looked to Bucky and analyzed him for a moment before turning his attention back to the rice,”I suppose you're right.”

“I am right,” she said.

Sam nodded,”So, what's the issue then? If he's doing things better than George, rest in peace, what's wrong?”

“He's hiding something. Something he won't tell me.”

Sam shrugged,”Maybe it's not as big as a deal as you think it is.”

Natasha turned to Sam and narrowed her eyes,”He's hiding something.”

Sam sighed,”He doesn't have to tell you everything, Nat.”

“No, he doesn't. But he should. If he wants the family to keep running like a well oiled machine, he should let me in the loop. Right now, only him and blondie over there know what's going on.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked as he looked back at Bucky.

“Watch them for a little while. You'll see him scanning the crowd for someone, or something. And then big and beefy will whisper something to him. I don't think Clint knows, or else he would have told me. But it's something.”

Sam watched for a moment, and when he saw Bucky's eyes settle on someone in the crowd, he sat his rice down and started to look a little closer. Thor leaned in to whisper in Bucky's ear, and Bucky sat up a little taller, eyeing someone in the crowd a little closer. Natasha perked up as she saw the person Bucky had been waiting for all night appear out of the crowd. It was a small blond woman dressed in a silver spaghetti strap dress with large clear heals and a small purse around her shoulder.

Bucky smiled wolfishly and stood, straightening his jacket and offering his arm to the girl. She came around the side of the table and took his arm, and the two of them disappeared into the hotel.

“Well, what do you know? Nothing serious after all. No bombs, no guns, no assassin missions. Dude just wants to get laid, Nat.”

Natasha shook her head, not pleased,”Something's going on. This is more than just sex.”

Sam sighed and picked his rice back up,”Or maybe it is. Look, relax. Take a load off. Have some sake, or vodka if your Russian blood can't handle Japanese alcohol. Just, please, chill out.”

Sam gave her a wink and then walked away, folding back into the crowd and disappearing relatively soon. Natasha turned back to the table where Bucky had been sitting, looking at Clint who was idly picking at his food. She bounced on the balls of her feet for a few minutes before sucking her teeth and diving into the crowd. She made her way across to Clint, like a viper, both silent and deadly.

“Clint,” she said.

He startled, knocking his fork and a glass to the ground,”Jesus Christ. Don't do that.”

Natasha flashed an apologetic smile that didn't reach her eyes,”I need your help.”

“With what, exactly?” He said as he dabbed off his black suit, one that all of Bucky's close and personal family members were all wearing tonight.

“Something is up with Barnes?”

Clint sighed and sat back in his chair,”He's just getting his rocks off, Nat. Not everything is a conspiracy theory.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes,”I know something is wrong. Bucky doesn't fuck hookers anymore.”

“Well...maybe he changed his mind.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“What! It's hard running a mob and getting laid on the side. Not an easy job when half the city thinks of you as a murdering, thieving-”

“You wanna finish that sentence?” Natasha interrupted.

“Sorry. Got carried away. My point is, it's just sex. It's just carnal. Sometimes you have to just,” he made a fist and pumped it slowly back and forth while he tucked his lips between his teeth.

“You're disgusting.”

Clint laughed and crossed his arms, spreading his legs in the process. The total image of defenseless prey and naivety. He shrugged and continued to look at her. Natasha felt frustration bubble up inside of her. No one was taking her seriously.

She made a quick decision,”Help me out, Clint, and I'll let you take me on a date.”

Clint choked on whatever was in his mouth and sat forward, looking very much like an excited golden retriever,”Seriously? Like a real date? One where you wear a dress and don't try to murder me, - or anyone else? The kind with dinner and-”

“Yes, Clint. A date.”

Clint pumped his fist and jumped to his feet,”Alright, what do I have to do?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and then told him her plan. He would have to convince Sam to join in on their plan, and Clint was sure that it would be easy. After about twenty minutes went by, Sam finally joined their little conquest and set it into motion.

While Natasha and Clint snuck inside the empty hotel, Sam would stay outside and distract code name: big blondie. Once Thor was distracted, Natasha and Clint would dart inside without having to let Bucky be notified. If he really was having sex with a prostitute, neither of them wanted to be caught dead spying on their boss.

After they made their way inside, Clint would climb into the air ducts on the floor where Bucky was staying and make his way to the room. Clint knew exactly which vents lead to the room as he was head of stealth and security. Meanwhile, Natasha would scope the floor above and below and then finally the floor that Bucky was staying on.

The plan was set in perfect motion, their coms were on a private channel, and just as they were about to call it quits they heard a crash from inside the room. Natasha drew her gun and stood outside the door.

“Eyes?” she asked Clint.

“Negative.”

There was more crashing and grunting from inside.

“Maybe it's just some BDSM bullshit,” Clint sighed.

Natasha felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She couldn't ignore the bad feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. Just as she was about to chastise Clint, she heard the a gun go off in the room and then three more shots afterwards.

She burst into the room, pointing her gun in the corners and slowly making her way down to the bedroom.

“Barnes!” she called.

There was no answer. She kept going, until she came to the wall where the bed was on the other side of. She paused for a moment and then lunged out and pointed her gun straight at the bed. On the bed, was Bucky clutching his shoulder and pointing a gun right back at her. On the floor was the dead prostitute and a butterfly knife in her hand.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and they both lowered their guns. From the other side of the room there was crashing and cursing, presumably Clint falling out of the ceiling.

“Bitch knifed me.” he said.

Natasha holstered her gun and walked over to where he was, prying his hand away to get a good look at the wound. It was lodged between his collarbone and pectoral muscle. Close to his heart, but still missing its mark.

“Any reason for particular, said knifing?”

Bucky threw her an unimpressed look and groaned as she helped lift him off the bed. Clint ran over, taking most of Bucky's weight and trying to help him get out of the room. Bucky made a noise and shrugged them both off, sitting in the arm chair in the living room and grunting as he did so.

“She's a Hydra spy. Sent here to try and seduce me. Nearly worked. Thor caught intel from one of the clubs he does security for. Pierce sent her to try and get rid of me. He's planning something and wants me out of the way.”

Natasha looked at Clint and then back at Bucky.

“We need to get in front of this. But, I don't want anyone to know what we're doing. Clint, I need you to get our cleaner up here and take care of this mess. I don't care what he has planned tonight, he's going to clean it up _now_. Natasha, I need you to help me stitch up this fucking wound. I want to leave here looking as intact as possible. Tell Tony to gather all the information that he can on Pierce and what he's been doing since that son of a bitch betrayed us. Get Bruce to come by the house later tonight to make sure this fucking thing doesn't fester. I need a fucking drink.”

Natasha nodded, and Clint started to call their cleaner on his phone. They started to busy themselves around, and Natasha grabbed one of the bottles of liquor off of the tray of concessions. She opened the bottle and took a swig, she offered it to Bucky and then took the bottle back. She tore his shirt open and looked at him once.

“Good 'ole vodka,” she said as she poured the alcohol into Bucky's wound and began to patch him up.

***

After graduation, Steve found himself alone in the big wide world. Peter had been offered a position at MIT, Angie a culinary experience at NYU, and Peggy, sweet Peggy was going to study abroad in the UK. Steve however, had not had the money to afford the schools he had been accepted to.

Even with the scholarships and grants, there was no way he would be able to pay his tuition on time and afford the extra supplies on the side. Therefore, he was forced to go to community college and start a life of his own friendless and penniless.

The fall semester had started off good, he had started his art classes and really started to take a shine to his art professor, Logan. But, he was as lonely as anything. His friends were gone, and his love life was suffering.

He was thin and tiny, and not a lot of boys looked his way unless they thought they could force him into submission and treat him like garbage. So, he had stopped dating and devoted himself to school. Not only that, but he had also started a job to try and keep up with his expensive New York rent and college tuition.

His job at the sandwich shop wasn't so bad. He stood behind the glass counter doling out orders and asking people what kind of bread they wanted. It was tedious and the tips were close to none, but it was the only job that he could get at the moment. The days were boring, but work gave him something to do and people to talk to. It made him feel useful and as though he were putting himself out there again into society.

“White, wheat, or rye?”

“Rye, with ham, cheese, pickles, and tomatoes.”

“Toasted or un-toasted?”

“Toasted.”

The door bell chimed and Steve looked up, his face heating up slightly at the man who walked inside. He was a regular at the shop, a tall dark and handsome man with a trimmed beard and dark features. He made Steve's heart stop.

He had started coming in around a month ago, a little while after Steve had started working at the store, and since then showed up almost every day. At first, he was sure Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome was only coming because he loved the sandwiches, but little by little Steve was convincing himself that the man was coming to see him.

“Hello?”

Steve shook himself out of his trance and looked back at the customer he was helping.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

The customer rolled his eyes and repeated himself. Steve quickly carried out the action and checked the customer out as quick as possible so that he could service his crush. Steve blushed at the thought.

“Can I help you?” Steve asked, voice pitching slightly.

The man smiled, his smile was so white. So dreamy. Steve's heart melted.

“Yeah, I'll do the usual. A twelve inch, white, hard salami, with extra mayonnaise.”

Steve blushed, thinking of what the order sounded like and refusing to let himself think about it.

“Yes, sir,” Steve breathed out.

The man hummed, giving Steve a smile. Steve set to work, slowly putting the sandwich together and taking as long as he could to try and keep the man in his presence a little longer.

“Rogers!” yelled his boss,”Get a move on! We've got four other people in line!”

Steve nodded at his boss and quickly finished up the order.

“Here you go,” he said as he handed the man his order.

“Thanks,” the man said as he winked and then left the restaurant.

Steve sighed, and then set himself back to work. He made sandwich after sandwich until closing time. His hands felt cold and clammy, and his clothes stank of processed foods. He went to the back and changed his shirt from his work attire to his street clothes. He shoved them into a duffle bag and then started to make his way out of the restaurant, grabbing the key and locking up the store. He turned to leave, shoving the key deep in his pocket and stopped dead in his tracks.

There, standing against a long sleek car was the man Steve had spent months pining after. Steve blushed and started walking down the street, eyeing the man from the corner of his eye and breathing shallowly.

“Hello,” the man said.

Steve looked up slightly, catching his eye. He looked to his left and right, and then back at the man. The man nodded and smiled at him. God did that smile do things to Steve.

“Hi,” Steve said, shouldering his bag and stopping in front of the man.

“I didn't know what time you got off, so I waited until closing. I hope that doesn't make me sound like a creep,” the man chuckled.

Steve's heart did somersaults,”That's alright.”

The man smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way little closer to Steve. He ducked his head shyly, almost boyishly.

“I have a confession to make,” the man said to him,”the store you work in has terrible sandwiches. I don't even eat them. I used to stop by the store five times a week until I figured out your shifts. I just go there, because the company is nice.”

Steve blushed harder,”Oh.”

“Yeah,” the man laughed.

Steve laughed lightly in return, feeling lightheaded and giddy.

“What...what do you like about the company?” Steve asked tentatively.

“Well, the company is kind. Always attentive. Charming, diligent, and handsome. You have the cutest blond hair that flops in your eyes, and small freckles that you can't see unless you pay attention. And that blush...god that blush. It gets me every time.”

Steve ducked his head, biting his lip and smiling.

“I waited out here, to ask you something.”

Steve looked up, eyes wide with hope.

“Do you want to go get coffee with me?”

Steve smiled, a big and wide one.

“Yes,” he said while laughing,”yes, I would like that.”

The man smiled back and kicked at the ground,”Great. Should I meet you there or do you need me to pick you up?”

Steve thought about it for a moment and went with the safe answer,”I'll meet you there.”

“Okay. I know a great cafe. It's a mom and pop shop. It puts Starbucks to shame.”

Steve laughed,”Okay.”

“Great, so it's a date. Friday, six-o-clock?”

“Yeah, that works for me,” Steve said with a smile.

“Okay, I'll see you then.”

The man turned to leave, and Steve smiled after him.

“Wait!”

The man turned and looked back.

“I'm Steve, Steve Rogers? What do I call you, other than Mr. Handsome?”

The man chuckled,”Brock. Brock Rumlow.”

He turned back on his heel and walked to the car. He gave Steve a small little wave and then got into the car and drove away. Steve stood on the sidewalk for a little while longer, smiling to himself before walking down the street with a beat in his step.

Finally, he thought to himself, things were beginning to look up.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> * = beloved  
> ** = my moon and stars  
> *** = little star  
> **** = star  
> ***** = Here, at this hour, our new leader, James Barnes, is consecrated by God  
> ****** = balls  
> ******* = prison bitch


End file.
